Under Shadowed Wings
by White as Sin
Summary: Red Fountain reigns as a school for specialists, with a fine turnout for centuries. However… all goes to chaos when for the first time in years… a girl enters the scarlet doors as a student.
1. Prologue

Under Shadowed Wings

Genre: Action/Adventure, General

Rating: PG-13

Warnings/Spoilers: Cursing, some violence

Summary: Red Fountain reigns as a school for specialists, with a fine turnout for centuries. However... all goes to chaos when for the first time in years... a girl enters the scarlet doors as a student.

Yes... I have succumbed to this.

I am writing Winx Club fiction.

The horror, the horror.

There is reason behind the madness... just not the best. /rolls eyes/ Yeah...

Well, this was based on watching Winx Club and getting irritated at the options given to girls. You're either a sweet fairy at Alfea or you're a nasty witch at Cloud Tower.

Plus, let's admit it. All of the Winx Club girls are anorexic and focus on... well, too stereotypical interests. Plus sometimes they're not the brightest.

/sighs/

Hence, this awkward concoction.

She's a completely original character, yes. And she's going to kick butt. But she's going to have a hell of a time trying to get to that level.

/grins wryly/ See any resemblance to a certain fantasy series for girls?

Well... here we go. This tidbit is more of a teaser than anything else, a rod put out into the open waters, so to speak.

.................................................................................................................................

Professor Codatorta, lieutenant headmaster and co-armsmaster of Red Fountain, stared at the parchment on his desk. The magically drawn ink portrait upon it stared right back at him stoically. Master Saladin glanced at him sharply with those penetrating, ancient eyes of his, one wrinkled hand upon the gold dragon on his cane.

The armsmaster took a deep breath, running a hand through his dark hair and pulling lightly at his beard. Then he looked back to the petite form of Alfea's headmistress, Miss Feragonda, upon his holo-monitor.

"This _girl_ wants to be in Red Fountain?" he asked finally.

The sweet, frail looking woman sighed, nodding. "I am afraid so," she replied. "We had sent her family a letter inviting her to our school, before Cloud Tower could track her down, and she latched onto the idea of Red Fountain."

General Harding scowled, looking down at the black ink picture again. "Another one of those woman warrior types, eh?" he said dryly.

The headmistress shrugged helplessly. "She's been refusing all attempts to come to Alfea, Codatorta. But we can't let her go about with all her power-"

"Lest the witches or others get to her," Master Saladin finished for her. "And it's unethical and illegal to send someone to her to drain all of her power, not without her consent." He stroked the gold dragon upon his walking stick.

Codatorta scowled again, before ruffling through the file the headmistress had sent them.

"She's got better background than some of our lads here," he admitted grudgingly. "Some creed of martial arts, military based family, passion for history. It's not a bad thing. But she's a female."

The headmistress huffed. "Indeed. She seems the type who would at least know how to dress modestly as a young woman should." She muttered something about starting uniforms.

Codatorta stroked at his beard. The girl in the picture stared mercilessly up at him, black ink eyes slightly narrowed. He continued to read over her profile.

An Earth girl, he noted. Sole girl of four children and second youngest. Had shown signs of magic since infancy, though rather subdued and miniscule incidents, incurred in times of anger (though not petulance, it noted).

He tapped at the ink picture and like a flame eating paper, color bled into the parchment. A girl with black hair and dark eyes stared at him. She wasn't pretty at all, like fairy students in Alfea; her face was a touch too round, her lips a bit too small. Her tanned skin bespoke of constant sun and her black shirt was functional, not fashionable. That decidedly stubborn chin did not bode well either, or those almost insolent dark brown eyes...

Codatorta frowned.

Master Saladin said quietly, "These girls are of two categories: stubborn-willed, harsh females going against males simply to win and prove superiority, or... Well, I haven't met or seen too many of the latter. It's partially up to you, Codatorta. I may run this school but you teach them."

He scowled when weighing his options. This girl could not be allowed to walk about, not with wild powers. But she positively refused to go to Alfea and nothing short of mind control (which was most unethical, and illegal to boot) would persuade her. Yet if she came to Red Fountain... The school rested upon thousands upon thousands of years of tradition and prestige. No female had ever stepped foot in it, as a _student_.

The headmistress looked at him somewhat impatiently from her position on the holo-projector. "Well? What is your decision?" she asked, her sweet voice sounding somewhat strained.

He grimaced. Why did he have the feeling this would be the first of headaches this girl would be giving him?

Professor Codatorta, seasoned veteran and teacher and venerable military figure, took a deep breath as he looked to the hologram of the headmistress. "Fine, we'll take this Mara Frey. _But only for a probation period_. If she doesn't meet our standards, she's going straight to you."

.................................................................................................................................

Sixteen-year-old Mara Frey hefted up her duffel bag onto her shoulder (those packing spells that they had sent had been very useful indeed) as her mother shot questions at her to make sure that everything was packed. Her black hair was still light on her head, freshly cropped short, her bangs still stubbornly falling into her dark eyes. She was dressed casually, in jeans and a plain gray shirt, comfortable sneakers on her feet.

"Shoes?"

"Sneakers, boots and slippers, Mom."

"Stationary and journal?"

"Tucked away and locked."

"Underwear?"

"Packed away neatly."

"Last hug to your family?"

Mara managed a smile for her mother. "Taking care of it now." She then pulled her mother in an enormous bear hug, engulfing the already smaller woman in her arms and kissing at the graying brown hair.

"Don't choke me, girl!" her mother said, lightly hitting at her. "Now take care of yourself." Her eyes were worried. "Are you sure about going to this school, Mara?"

Mara nodded. "I am, Mama. I'll take care of myself... and I'll try to come as often as I can on holidays. I promise."

"Those boys better not try anything funny with my daughter," her father said. He managed a smile.

"Tell you what, Dad, don't punish me if I have to castrate them and get detention for it." She went over to him and kissed him on the cheek, patting at his gray hair.

"All right, all right." He ruffled her hair playfully before pulling her into a tight hug.

Her two older brothers grinned at her before grabbing her in a double attack.

"Write to us, will you?" demanded the oldest, nineteen-year-old Roland, tall and gangly with startling ice blue eyes and a mop of dark brown hair.

"Tell us _everything_," said the next oldest, seventeen-year-old Matthew, shorter and stockier with short black hair and mischievous black eyes.

"Including how bad the boys are so we can go beat them up for you."

"Har har har, boys," Mara said darkly, wriggling out of their grasp to punch them both in the stomach.

Her younger brother hesitated before coming up to her. "Be careful, okay, Mara?" he said softly. Thirteen-year-old Daniel, the youngest and the most delicate, with long curls of pale brown hair and expressive, enormous hazel eyes, the brother Mara was closest to.

She hugged him close. "Of course."

"Maybe I can go too, and we can train together," he said.

Mara smiled and ruffled his curls. "Maybe... and I'll take care of you."

He kissed her cheek. "Write to me, okay?"

"Don't worry, I will." She shifted her duffel bag. Most of her life, stuffed into magically enhanced luggage... She took a deep breath, a bird flapping madly in her stomach (or so it seemed). 'I'm finally going to Red Fountain... I get to be a knight!'

She checked her watch. It was nearly time to go. She walked a few steps from the house, near the street sign they had indicated for her to wait at. The seconds counted off and at the exact moment of twelve, she felt a ghostly sensation over her skin and knew nothing for what seemed like an eternity.

.................................................................................................................................

So, what do you all think? It's just a teaser really. The twisted part is though, I've already written the later chapters. That's me for you, jumping around with scenes and trying to connect them together. Well... let me know if you like this.


	2. Chapter 1: First Day DisOrientation

/shuffles through reviews/ Wow, I didn't think I'd get such enthusiastic approval of this concept.

Thank you for all your kindness and encouraging me to continue this. Mind, my chapters come erratically and I have another epic that I'm working on.

Now some Author notes to the fans:

yaxxine: Thank you, I'm so flattered. Yes, personally, I would hardly fit in either way. I'm not pretty enough and I'm not bitchy enough, if you'll forgive my language, to go to either school.

Story Weaver1: Ohohoho! Yes, you'll get to see her beating them up! But also getting beat up quite a bit herself!

Freaky Person O.o: Weird, eh? Humph. Think of it as you will. I take "weird" as a compliment. Normality's overrated.

nukerjsr: Glad to have made such a good impression on you.

Shadowkitty13: If you're talking about emailing them to you… no can do. I'm busy enough as is and finding a computer is hard lately. Do check up occasionally.

BubblyShell22: Thanks for the compliments, but no, Mara was not attacked. It's pretty clear she was expecting the call from Red Fountain. It's not as though she can go to an airline and ask them for a ticket to Magix.

greendog: Thank you. I'll try to continue writing, what with my sporadic periods of writer's block.

bo: …If you're referring to the fact that I didn't necessarily describe her as "pretty" within the first few sentences, I don't write "beautiful" as a character description very often because everyone has different thoughts on physical beauty (especially when I'm referring to my female characters). Or, on the other hand, if you're referring to the possibility that my description was not enough, I'm sorry if you are unable to process that description. Either way, Mara is not a pretty woman, hence Codatorta's comment that she wasn't "pretty" like the girls at Alfea. I know that the description isn't total, but the original character is NOT going to be a stereotypical Mary Sue, sending boys at her feet as well as kicking their a. She's unique, as real women are, with flaws that can also be seen as beauty, depending on the views of observers but either way… she's not your regular Nicole Kidman. /shrugs/ If you could but work on your tact, please, that would be most appreciated.

Goddess-of-Chaos-4846: Heh, thank you very much.

MistressesOfThePurpleQuill: That's sweet of you.By the way, I was watching Winx Club the other day and just realized the prejudices witches go through. I mean, having their conference shoved into a second rate auditorium even though they got it first (my guess) just because Alfea wanted it? That's cold. And also, there's the fact that witches aren't allowed in the Miss Magix Pageant. I think that the witches have some reason to be so nasty like that, I mean, if they're hated so much…

bluefairy: I'm trying, I assure you! But in between writer's block and school exams, it's very difficult to write Silver for Glass, much less this pet project.

Bloom/Will Fan: Oh, they're going to make her life HELL…

Disclaimer: No I don't own Winx Club and affiliated. I only own my original characters: Mara, her family, and other original supporting Red Fountain students/teachers.

* * *

Chapter One: First Day (Dis)orientation

* * *

When Mara opened her eyes, she was in a curious station. People in the strangest clothes were walking about, most with a curiously statuesque beauty. She felt rather out of place, grungy and crude compared to these mysterious people, but took a deep breath and walked on, looking for the Red Fountain teacher who would take her to the school. The station hummed with a curious energy that caused hairs upon the back of her neck to rise and tingle. She looked around, feeling a curious sensation of being watched. But no one was there.

Shrugging a little and adjusting the duffel bag on her shoulder, she told herself to relax. Nothing was to fear. All she had to do was to remain calm and…

"You must be Mara Frey," said a voice just right behind her.

Mara let out a yelp of surprise and jumped about to face a lean young man, who of all things was _smirking_ at her. She glared at him, catching her breath. He had features like a Grecian god's; copper red hair gently curled about his pretty yet indescribably handsome face. Mara flushed a little, feeling the green-eyed monster rise in her at the fact that this man, no, _boy_, was prettier than she was. Of all things he could have worn, he was wearing what could be a plain gray shirt and khakis from Earth. But the air of authority around him could not be denied (none but a fool or an expert was that cocky) and she surreptitiously glanced at his long fingered hands. They were covered with calluses. This man was certainly an expert. She quickly looked up to meet his dark brown eyes, caught in their dark depths.

"Yes," she managed to say, trying not to openly ogle him.

The man's face creased slightly in a smile. "My name is Gareth; I'm a student teacher over at Red Fountain." He offered his hand. "And let me be the first to tell you that your stay there will be hell."

She blinked before saying dryly, "I expected nothing more from a military based school."

The man smiled widely at her, a bit more genuine warmth in his eyes and expression. "I think you'll fit in nicely. Of course, just make sure to curb that waspish tongue of yours in front of Codatorta the Terrible. Come on. It won't take long to get there. Orientation's in three hours but the monster wants to meet with you."

He didn't offer to take her bag, which was actually a source of relief for Mara. At least one guy was sensible about having a girl invade "sacred territory." "Uh, how are we getting to Red Fountain?" she asked, shifting her duffel bag.

Gareth looked at her. "By car. What else?" He walked up to a rather sleek red car that seemed to have popped out from a science fiction movie. She stopped, looking over it, especially the trefoil design on the hood. That was Red Fountain's insignia, she realized.

"It's the school's," Gareth said, popping the trunk open for her to throw in her duffel bag. "But it's a sweet one."

Mara dropped in her bag, closing the trunk. "Looks like it. My brothers would like it; they live for tinkering with everything. They once made a super toaster and drove my mom crazy."

"What did it do, catapult pieces of burnt toast at her?" Gareth asked, unlocking the doors. Mara slid into the passenger side, very much relishing the black leather interior that was just as sleek as the exterior. Fortunately, it didn't stink of cigarette smoke or, in her brothers' case, stale gym socks.

"No, it managed to write a ten page thesis on the ever growing dependencies on useless household implements and using its rocket boosters, broke through a window and flew away before exploding itself over the neighbor's house."

* * *

Gareth filled her in on little things about Red Fountain as he deftly drove through a vast forest, winding through a path that seemed to have perverse pleasure in being as meandering and twisting as a mountain track. He had a positively wicked pleasure in speed, not that Mara was terribly surprised.

"Is this usual for new students?" she asked as she swore she had spotted an enormous red-orange dome peeking above the trees.

"The Earth ones and those who don't have the resources to get a flight directly to Red Fountain," he said, making a turn so sharply Mara turned white and clung to her seat for dear life. "But you're special. You don't have to share a shuttle with the others." He grinned at her and she managed a weak smile back.

"How old are you?" she asked quickly, flushing a little at her impudence however.

"Twenty-two. I know I don't look it." He continued driving, picking up a little speed on a mostly straight section of road. "And don't be so twitchy. Sixteen-year-old jailbait is not my type. Besides, I'm not allowed to."

"Not that it stops most males," Mara grumbled, giving him a glare.

"Touché!" Gareth said with a laugh. "But in sincerity, if I want to keep my job and board, I lay all hands _off_ you. Except in class or if you ask me, that is." He gave her a mock-leer.

Mara made a rude gesture at him. "You seem easy about having a girl come to Red Fountain. Why? It's a male school after all."

Gareth then looked thoughtful, pretty face frowning slightly. If there was one thing Mara could already tell from this young man, it was that he was a very honest and open person, his emotions easily read from his face and eyes. "I was apprehensive, I have to admit," he said, easing on the speed. "For all I knew, you were a dyke macho girl who had not a drop of feminine in her or some naïve little fool trying to reach too high dreams. But at least those fears were mostly mollified when I saw you." He grinned at her.

"And if I am merely a good actress?" Mara couldn't help but ask.

"I'd find out at Red Fountain anyways. No act can be done at all hours when you're at Red Fountain. Lies are hard to keep up in there. It's something in the walls… But I digress. I find nothing wrong with a woman who fights. I was raised in a matriarchal family, with plenty of aunts and older cousins, not to mention my formidable mother and grandmother, may they live for a very long time, to keep a stern eye on me. I have five older sisters, Frey, and they made sure that I would respect females, whether older or younger. Besides, there's too much testosterone saturating that bloody school. A little estrogen should clear it up."

"You have a lot of faith in me," Mara said dryly. "As well as a lot of ease."

"If you're asking me why I'm telling you all this, it's because I was sent to get you for a reason." He actually looked at her dead in the eye while driving. "Even if I hadn't been chosen, I would have gone anyways. I like getting close to my students, for the meager number of months I've actually been teaching. You're the girl and this is a pack of very male wolves. They're going to try to pounce on you, though you're all cubs. My older sisters would have killed me if they caught wind that I had a female student and didn't defend her properly." He grinned wryly. "That's what Saladin thought too, give you heads up on what's going on around here. I teach mostly the freshmen and sophomores, though I give the occasional cocky junior and senior a beating when Codatorta's busy. You're going to be in my class, like it or not. As my first girl student, I should get to know you better so I can teach you as best I can."

"Don't treat me any differently," Mara said harshly. "I _hate_ that. I'm not here to be cosseted, sir."

"Getting into the mode, eh?" He smiled crookedly. "Don't worry, I won't be going around calling you by your name on a regular basis. But you have to know and you have to be aware. You're potentially very vulnerable here. These are hormonal young men, men who have been raised by noble families, families that are also very displeased about the 'ruining' of Red Fountain's 'honor' by accepting you in as a full student. They will make you try to quit as much as they can and not every teacher will listen to you if you try to get the boys into trouble. And if the hazing doesn't work, some will deliberately try to attack you." Gareth looked at her for another long moment. "Despite what people say, we have expelled boys from Red Fountain, which is one of the greatest disgraces in Magix, for rape and assault."

Mara's blood ran cold but she said quietly, "I can protect myself. If things go too far and I am unable to stop it, I assure you, I will make them pay dearly for each hurt. They will be the ones running, not me."

Gareth regarded her for a few more moments before answering, "Of course, you'll still be exercising and studying with them. You won't be given any real 'special' treatment, no more than what is absolutely necessary."

"I understand, sir."

"Ah, you make me feel old," Gareth chuckled, a smile crossing his unbearably handsome face. "You can call me Gary when we're alone like this."

"I'm unable to." She gracefully removed the "sir" from the end.

"Oh?" He arched a dark eyebrow.

"Student-teacher liaisons are not permitted, as you said yourself."

Gareth started laughing. "Things are going to be interesting with you around here, I just know that!"

The drive was finished in a very comfortable silence as Red Fountain came into view. Mara's breath caught in her throat. Gleaming in early afternoon sun, the enormous citadel of red-orange and gold looked like the home of a sun god, an image from the most wondrous of fairy tales. She stared at it, wishing she had a thousand more eyes to absorb all of this completely. The school was settled upon a low rock crag, surrounded by miles upon miles of green forest, a peaceful lake lingering a little distance away from the citadel. It was her dream materializing from fog and sunlight.

"Home sweet home," Gareth said with a low chuckle.

* * *

"Don't give Codatorta any crap, that's all I can say," Gareth said as they padded up the steps into the main building from the parking garage of the school. Mara shrugged her duffel bag onto her other shoulder.

"That's a given," she said dryly. "He sounds like my great-uncle. I don't give him crap because he treats me just like my brothers. He smacks the hell out of me if I put one toe out of line."

Gareth stifled a chuckle. "I bow to you, experienced one," he teased.

Mara couldn't help but stop, staring up at the citadel with its orange gilt dome, glowing in the afternoon sunshine. Something in her felt… oddly at peace. As if she were truly home.

Codatorta's office was in the armory, or what Mara figured was the armory. What else could describe an enormous storage room filled with rows and rows of shelves of hilts and bows and things meant for the art of war? The office was a plain and very utilitarian little room, more like a closet, off to the side, though slightly cluttered with papers and bits of weaponry and mechanics. All of that paled in comparison to the man.

A rugged mountain of a man, he moved more silently than a creature of that… bulk could humanly ever hope to accomplish. His eyes were polished jet, inscrutable and stern. Though his black beard and hair were not of total military perfection, they were trimmed neatly and close to his face with all the severity of an army buzz cut. Mara could see scars faintly lacerating his enormous form through his blue and black tunic and leggings and the fact that the man walked with a very slight limp that hinted he was getting on in years though he could have been anywhere from twenty nine to sixty nine.

The man had been pacing in his room as the two entered. "Sit down," he ordered curtly almost immediately as Gareth quietly closed the door. He had a very strong Scottish accent, voice rough and deep, holding no nonsense and as much sensitivity as steel.

Mara hastily took one of the very battered looking wooden chairs in the room. She noted that the legs had teeth marks on them. Gareth took the chair next to her, that one looking frighteningly rickety.

"So… Frey." Codatorta's dark eyes studied her intently.

"Yes sir," she answered automatically.

His face twisted slightly. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to reconsider. Finally, he said, "Though we accepted you into this school, you will not be considered a full student."

'_What!'_ Mara thought, stifling the wail of horror that threatened the spill out.

He glared at her. "You will be on academic probation for the first semester," he said. "If you pass your midterms, while keeping up your grades and having minimal black marks on your behavior record, you will be accepted into the school as a full student. If not, you will be sent directly to Alfea, who has generously allowed to admit you at semester."

"Yes sir," Mara barely managed to eke out. How _could_ they? She stole a glance at Gareth. Gareth managed to catch her eyes and a bit of pity was in his glance. She scowled inwardly, quickly looking back at Codatorta.

"You will not be rooming with another student," Codatorta informed her tartly. "When any males are in your room, unless there is an appropriate chaperone in the room, the door will be kept open. We will not tolerate any liaisons with you and any of the other students."

"Understood, sir," Mara said quietly. Not that she had much of an interest in dating any of these boys… she was here to learn, not to date. But she couldn't very well say that to him right now…

"Your room is your responsibility to keep clean and clear. Your laundry will be taken care of as soon as it is left in the appropriate hamper. As for private facilities, you will be allotted one. After practice you will be allowed to go take a shower in your own room, not follow the other boys into the locker rooms." He gave her a dark look. "As for punishments, you will be given warnings but do not trust on that. Bad behavior will result in a numerous number of punishments, from revoking of your privileges to possible suspension or expulsion."

She nodded. "Yes sir."

"Rules will be covered in Orientation and you will be given an older student mentor to help you around Red Fountain for the next few weeks, both in getting about the school and the various rules and regulations."

"Sir, if I may take over that," Gareth said, suddenly speaking as he leaned a little in his wobbling chair.

Codatorta gave him a look that was a curious combination of irritation and surprise. "For any particular reason, Instructor Gareth?" he growled.

"It would be too much to put that responsibility on some of the older students," Gareth said smoothly. "We can't trust them to completely control themselves, can we?"

Codatorta's scowl proclaimed the opposite. "Fine!" he snapped. "This better not interfere with your duties, instructor, or you will find yourself in probation as well."

"I won't allow that, sir," Gareth said with a perfectly neutral face and tone.

Codatorta now rounded on Mara. "You are hardly special, Frey," he growled. "You will be treated no differently than any male at this school. No exceptions unless those absolutely necessary will be provided to you. This is no fairy tale, girl, _do I make myself clear_?"

"Crystal, sir," Mara said, without blinking, staring into Codatorta's rather frightening obsidian eyes.

The man glared at her for another century and she barely managed not to blink _too_ often. It was like trying to deal with a Doberman with a lot of teeth; you didn't show your fear or you were dead in ten seconds flat.

Codatorta looked her over. "You are presentable," he said, in disgust. "At least you know your bounds, girl." He then muttered something profane about boys' fashions. "Instructor Gareth will take you to your room and you will stay there until Orientation."

"I can give her a tour, sir, because she does happen to be here early," Gareth swiftly interjected.

The man glared at him. "Very well then," he growled. "But I'm warning you…"

"Sir, I will not allow any shenanigans. She is my student and will remain so." Gareth looked back evenly.

And had his serious moment disrupted by having the chair splinter beneath him.

* * *

"If you were looking for drama, that just ruined it," Mara pointed out helpfully once they were out of the weaponsmaster's offic, Gareth taking her up to her room.

"Shut up," Gareth muttered, rubbing at his still sore backside. Luckily Codatorata had only cursed about the chair under his breath before growling out a dismissal. They had left him dropping the splinters into a wastebasket.

"Will do." Mara couldn't help but smirk one last time before looking away innocently.

The hallways were pleasantly carpeted, looking more like the interior of a castle of a fairy tale than some citadel housing the training of many knights. The constant color scheme of red, especially burgundy and cinnabar-gold, was starting to make Mara a bit warm. Not to mention feel like she was in some kind of twisted bordello… She swiftly squashed that thought before it could fully bloom.

"Ah, here we are." Gareth opened a particular door that had a gilt frame hanging from the red painted wood. He slipped a piece of paper into it before ushering Mara into her new room. In elegant print the frame now read, "Mara Frey."

Mara admired it for a moment before stepping in and blinking a little. The room was far better than she thought it would be. Hardly army barracks; it was no medieval recreation as well, with tapestries and four-poster bed.

Instead, her room was in neutral shades of red, not enough to make her distinctly uneasy, offset with cream and iron gray. Her bed was a simple one, metal frame, like almost all the furniture in the room, already neatly done with a simple red comforter and two plump white pillows. She had a rather impressive desk pieced together from warm honey colored wood and the same metal as her bed, including a computer console, of all things. A door off to the side revealed a small but very serviceable bathroom with tub and showerhead. This was more than she dreamed of.

"It's a bit small and plain, but you can add your own stuff to it," Gareth said even as Mara wandered to the bed to set down her duffel bag. "Just don't put too much stuff up or leave it cluttered. Sometimes you'll get surprise checks and trust me, if they find something… inappropriate, there will be hell to pay." He flipped her a key, a rather pretty thing with a long silver shaft and an ornate insignia of a curled dragon etched on it.

Mara arched an eyebrow at him, catching the key in midair. "I suppose I'll keep my expansive collection of stuffed animals in my magically enhanced bag then," she said, deadpan.

Gareth stared at her before noting her eyes twinkling and started to laugh. "You'll fit in whether you like it or not. At least with instructors like me!"

Mara had finished putting up one of her wallscrolls (1), making sure the thin cloth image of Kamui was hung straight, before she checked her watch. Orientation was in roughly ten minutes. She cursed under her breath for letting the time slip by but couldn't help but look about the room.

It wasn't home but it was certainly more comfortable with her wallscrolls hanging here and there, her computer and mini stereo safely put into the secret compartments of her desk, a bouquet of cleverly made paper and foil flowers on her desk in a cut glass vase (a gift from a rather talented Japanese friend of hers). She had added one of her favorite blue flannel blankets onto the bed as well as her very favorite traveling pillow, blue of course, and stuffed with something very squishy.

Mara dusted off her hands and smiled, before heading out, locking her door after her. As she was heading to the courtyard Gareth had told her Orientation would be, she crashed into someone going at full speed in the opposite direction.

"Oof!" She fell but managed to twist in time to catch herself.

"You oaf!" a male voice snarled. "Watch where you're going, you clumsy twit!"

"Well, excuse me," Mara retorted, slowly getting up. "Pardon if I can't suddenly see random people hurtling at me at full speed."

The boy she had crashed into was devastatingly handsome. If Gareth was a Greek god, this one was like an angel. Well, a dark one. His hair was coal black, in loose, silken waves about his face, about half of them tied in a rough tail with a silver band, stubborn strands framing an angelic, if very annoyed face.

The boy huffed, getting up and dusting off his black silk shirt and slacks, picking off invisible lint. His eyes, one burnished silver and one black, only glared at her. "What are you doing here? Servants' quarters are elsewhere."

"Excuse me, but I'm a student," Mara retorted.

The boy could not have been more incredulous or disgusted than if she had suddenly turned into a horned toad. "You?" Then his eyes flashed with utter hatred. "Yes, I heard of you. You're that new girl they accepted here, from Earth."

"Yes, I'm Mara Frey." She offered her hand, just out of courtesy but he slapped it away.

"Get out of our way, girl," he snarled. "Go back to Earth because you don't belong here." With a toss of his hair, he stalked off, trying to keep his dignity but looking more like an affronted cat.

Mara pursed her lips slightly. "That's a lovely start," she muttered under her breath before heading to the courtyard, now feeling just a little uneasy.

* * *

(1) Sorry, I'm shipping. Forgive me. But Mara likes anime, like I do. ;; Kamui is from an anime/manga called X, which is basically about the world and Kamui is the one who decides the fate. Basically the world is in the hands of pretty, bitchy fifteen-year-old. Shoot us now. 


	3. Chapter 2: The Problem with Boys

Yes, I've been caught.

This story is much like the Protector of the Small series by Tamora Pierce. However, it's a little different. Personally, I've all but abandoned Tamora Pierce's writing. After reading stuff by R.A. Salvatore, Mercedes Lackey, and Raymond Feist, I can't really go back, because Ms. Pierce clearly puts her books for teens. Once you've tasted the adult stuff, there's no going back.

Comments for the reviewers (I love you all!):

KatyRose: You caught me. /hands up/ Yes, yes. But mind you, Mara won't have NEARLY as much patience as Kel.

Goldendragonet/bows after saluting/ Many thanks for those cries of praise. And indeed, Winx Club is deplorable, despite the world it is in…

StoryWeaver1: I'm glad you like Gareth; he was kind of spur of the moment. But he will have an important part of this tale… as well as the nasty guy.

ArcherofDarkness and Callie: Phew! I'm glad Mara didn't come off that way! I'm half afraid for her because of her abilities. But it turns out she's becoming quite popular.

Curtis Zidane Ziraa: The boys from the show will be introduced, gradually. I'm still trying to work out whether to put them in Mara's year or make them younger. Probably the former.

bluefairy, Faolan14: Thank you for the compliments.

* * *

Chapter Two: The Problem with Boys

* * *

By the time Mara had gotten to the courtyard, a good number of boys were already lingering about there, some holding bags, others with empty hands.

She blinked a little, half disappointed and half amazed. For the most part, the boys were human and in street clothes, ranging from preppy knit vests to worn out black jeans. Not quite the armor and tunics she had half expected of this world…

But some of these boys… some were utterly exotic. She caught glimpses of skin that was tinted teal blue and silvery white, eyes mismatched with shades of violet and gold, faces etched with scarlet tattoos… As she walked in, her eyes suddenly fell upon one boy in particular.

He was rather neatly dressed, wearing a short sleeved dark blue shirt and slightly faded khakis that were tucked into calf high boots. The blue was a sharp contrast to his dusky skin and the small ponytail of red-orange hair bound with two small orange feathers at the base of his skull. The rest of his hair was close cropped to his head and white as snow. He turned to look at her and his eyes were the gray of storm clouds yet oddly touched with orange, like those clouds were slowly draping over the sky as the sun set. Mara couldn't help but be entranced by those eyes in the moment they shared a glance. Then he graced her with a smile, more like a smirk really, that was a quirk of his thin lips as he turned to talk to another boy.

Mara blinked a little, starting to head toward him before a sudden booming voice rent the air and made her flinch. "Gentlemen!"

Conversations stopped immediately as all heads turned as Professor Codatorta and a smaller, older looking man entered. Codatorta's bulky mass was enough to inspire awe in all but the very moronic. But somehow… that slight, short man walking by him holding a long gold staff topped with a dragon with eyes of rubies and holding an enormous purple globe unsettled her.

He walked with no limp, easily holding his staff, as his steps were absolutely silent. There was something about his dark eyes, winged with snowy silver brows that unsettled Mara, something ancient and inhuman. He may have been almost comically short, wearing a loose yellow and white jacket and cream trousers that suddenly made Mara think of Jedi and Star Wars, but this man was dangerous, as deadly as his taller, more muscular companion. She could feel it, sense it intuitively.

The smaller man cleared his throat quietly. "We welcome you, gentlemen to a new term at Red Fountain," he said in a low, slightly raspy voice that no less commanded attention. "You are all hand chosen to be here, at the most prestigious of magical schools in the known realms. Some of you are princes and knights of families that can easily date back to the Great Dragon. Some are you are the descendents of the greatest of mages, warrior and wizard. Some of you are gifted, accepted in here based on your previous record of training and excellence." His eyes looked over at the crowd.

"Welcome to orientation, new freshmen. I am Professor Saladin but you will address me as sir. Along with Professor Codatorta, our main armsmaster, I run this establishment. I was a knight of Red Fountain and am a veteran of the war of Sparx against one of the last covens of witches. Your parents have put you in our charge to raise you as specialists and warriors. But not only that, we are here to raise you as gentlemen, as polite, well mannered and refined knights who are not just fighters. A fighter and a warrior are divided by that." Professor Saladin gave each of them a long look as he padded softly forward, the ruby eyes of his staff glittering.

Professor Codatorta followed him but said, in a low growl, "You are all here to learn, not to fool around. Any of you lads who break the rules of Red Fountain will be duly punished. We're not nursemaids, princes. All of you will be expected to pull your own weight. Weakness is not permitted!"

Saladin raised his hand however to stop his armsmaster. "You all are here for four years of intensive schooling in tactics, arms, history, discipline, and magic. During this time, you will all learn to trust one another but also gain strength in yourself. I expect no less from the best from each of you, as does Armsmaster Codatorta. He will be training you, along with our instructors and professors, some of whom are already here."

A few young men and surprisingly enough, two women, came out from behind Saladin. Gareth was included in that number and he made no sign of greeting Mara personally though she did catch him giving her a very surreptitious wink, which she was too shrewd to respond to accordingly. The other males were too much like Codatorta for comfort, very muscled though nowhere near as bulky as the venerable armsmaster, and faces slightly lined, with white starting to streak their hair.

However, the two women were not quite as warlike. One was a rather grim looking teacher, hair pale brown with spectacles balanced on her hawk-like nose in front of icy green eyes. She was too prim and proper for her own good, wearing a white shirt with a very high collar and skirt of black wool with a very, very modest length. The woman frowned faintly, a claw like hand touching at the enormous brooch at the collar of her shirt, something like an enormous oval black gem mounted in gold.

The other woman was… an anomaly. She wasn't as grim as "Madame Proper" but she was somewhat remote. Not in the sense of the straight-laced librarian, but rather like… a wild mountain was forever for any human. The woman's hair was not in a strict coif, but in long luxurious black locks, bound up in leather cords and clay beads. There was something distinctly Native American about her, especially her dusky skin and dark eyes, her dress of a very soft, tawny colored cloth embroidered richly with stylized hawks and fringed with the tiniest of red, black, white, and yellow beads and soft leather cord.

Mara looked at the woman just as the teacher turned to look at the students. Their eyes met and Mara was struck about just what color those eyes were. They were a startling sapphire blue, shot through with bits of jet black, details Mara could make out even in the distance that separated them. The instructor let a soft smile cross her lips, nodding in something almost like a salute, before breaking that glance.

"Now, as freshmen, you will be assigned an older student as your mentor. He will guide you around the school and teach you in the rules and regulations of this academy. Until your mentor feels you are ready to succeed on your own, you will be his shadow and will be expected to follow most of his orders."

At this point, many of the boys, who had initially looked rather bored with Saladin's speech, looked rather peeved and somewhat apprehensive. The white-haired boy glanced over at Mara for the briefest of moments, gray irises swiveling to the very corners of his eyes.

Saladin tapped the butt of his staff on the ground. "I am aware that many of you know about the new twist in acceptances to Red Fountain. We at Red Fountain have recognized a young woman who will be training with you."

Heads craned as the boys around Mara suddenly realized that she _wasn't_ just a servant listening or perhaps, a very effeminate boy. Murmurs rose until Saladin sharply tapped his staff on the ground once again. "She is not a servant but a student of this academy. Several provisions have been made to her but she will not be treated any differently than any of you lads. This is not a jest and if she is mistreated by any of you who think she is… 'fair play' to torment, the offenders will be promptly punished."

Angry murmurs rose at this as many dark looks were sent Mara's way. She only coolly looked back at them, attention mostly on Saladin. Saladin clapped once. "Now, gentlemen, you may go to your assigned dormitories. Your mentors will be assigned to you in the mess hall. The rest of the day is free for you but do not tarry. Tomorrow, each of you has a very long day."

The boys went out in a flood, more than one "accidentally" knocking into Mara as they went, jostling her. However, she would not be allowed to exit peacefully. A hand landed on her shoulder and she immediately whirled to find herself face to face with Gareth.

"You won't have to worry about that," he commented mildly, offering her a smile.

"Don't worry, my memory isn't that horrible," Mara retorted dryly.

Gareth arched an eyebrow. "Ouch. Harsh. Now, would you mind if I gave you a tour right now?"

Mara shrugged. "It makes no difference. But I'd rather not be scrambling and mucking about later."

"Gareth!" crowed a voice. Wading through the now dissipating crowd was a man just as handsome as the instructor, though in a somewhat different manner.

The first thing Mara noticed was the hair. No human should _ever_ have hair that blue, she thought faintly, before remembering what her cousins had gone through in their teen rebel years. And it wasn't from a bottle or from any kind of hair coloring that she knew about. That hair was as blue as paint. There were no roots, no sign of dried out hair. For all she knew, that hair was grown right from his head a perfect shade of sapphire blue. Well, and there was the fact that his eyebrows matched exactly.

The man literally pounced onto Gareth, who didn't seem to mind it. When he kissed the other man soundly on the cheek, Mara could not help but stare.

'_I think that this school is going to have a lot of interesting situations,'_ she thought. _'Good job, girl, you chose to go to school with a lot of _boys_.'_

Gareth didn't seem overly fond of the kiss but neither did he respond in true disgust, slapping his companion on the back in a very masculine fashion. "It's good to see you again, Andrei," he said with a smile.

Andrei, his blue hair being the major feature, had the same classical features as Gareth, though much softer and well… cuter. His face was round, his nose not quite as straight and arrogant but a little snubbed, adorable. Somewhat fittingly, his eyes were blue as well, though a color that was nearly black. He didn't seem much of a fighter, having the muscles that Mara associated with an acrobat or a gymnast, lean and wiry without much fat.

Of course, misjudging was always a dangerous mistake.

Andrei smiled back at him, clapping Gareth's back in return. He obviously had some strength because if Mara was not mistaken, the instructor actually staggered a little from the blow, eyes bulging. Then, like a rather flighty puppy, the blue haired man whipped his head about to glance Mara.

"Ah! You're the female student," Andrei said, a genuine smile warming his rather adorable features.

Gareth coughed. "Yes, Mara, this is Andrei, my cousin."

"More like second cousin once removed," Andrei said, flapping his hand dismissively. "But I am one of the instructors here. I specialize in staff fighting and whip work." He grinned, waggling his eyebrows at Mara.

Gareth smacked the blue haired man upside the head. "Stop that you letch! Pardon the pervert."

Mara coughed a little. "My brothers are worse, don't worry."

"I do hope you take to the whip. It is a very handy weapon," Andrei said with a grin.

Mara arched an eyebrow at him. "Perhaps?" She glanced at Gareth.

"Part of the first few weeks is getting adapted to what weapons you would like to be most proficient in. However, you will be getting a holistic education," Gareth explained. "So don't think you're going to be free of using lances when you choose the longsword."

"His weapon, by the way," Andrei added in. "And I suppose he's going to push you in that direction… Ow!" Gareth had yanked, hard, on a handful of blue hair.

Mara stifled a smile. "Let's just see what I adapt to," she said delicately.

Andrei chuckled. "Diplomatic! I like this one! Maybe she can do espionage or trade once she graduates! See you later, Gary." With a cheerful, mock salute to Mara and another enthusiastic back thumping to Gareth, Andrei went off, latching onto another victim.

Gareth shook his head. "Foppish creature." But he could not hide a fond smile lingering on his lips.

Mara laughed. "He's interesting."

"You're too tactful for your own good, you know that?" Gareth told her, reaching out to boldly ruffle her hair. She growled, swiping at him.

He only laughed at her before turning. "Come on, let me give you a tour of the place."

* * *

So Gareth showed her around Red Fountain, the various practice areas and the library, the courtyard and the mess hall. He even showed her a few secret passages to make going to class a lot easier.

"But don't depend on these," he warned as they stepped out of one that wove between the very thick walls from the basement (with the dragon pens and miscellaneous chambers that the upper levels couldn't accommodate). "Sometimes they might shut down on you, or the teachers will be patrolling."

"I'll remember that then," Mara said, shaking dust from her hair. Her shirt now smelled like smoke, thanks to a close call with the dragons.

Gareth looked at her. 'You're already taking to this like a fish to water," he said with a smile.

Mara arched an eyebrow at him but he was already halfway down the hallway before she could even ask. Grumbling, she ran after him as he ducked into another room.

"The hall of portraits," he announced as she practically slammed into him.

"What- oh…" Mara's protests died away as she stared. The Hall of Portraits was a gallery, not the elaborate Tudor castle hall she had expected with expensive, antique red and gold wallpaper and exotic carpets with gold furnishings, or the coldly aesthetic white and chrome modern art gallery with holograms and white blocks for pedestals. Rather, it was a mix of both.

The walls were painted burgundy with whorls of lighter red, the floor paneled in rich, dark wood. Elegant men and women stared at her in portraits framed in gold on the walls and pedestals held curious devices projecting holograms of knights. Weapons hung from the wall, gold and jewels glinting upon elaborate hilts as painted, battered shields hung in places of honor.

Mara stepped past some of the paintings, reading little gold plates that held exotic names. "Those important to Red Fountain's history are here," Gareth told her. "Graduates, former teachers, various associates…"

But Mara had stopped before a very large painting. The frame wasn't the molded gold of the others but rather, of delicately wrought black metal in intricate, spiky wreaths about the portrait of a noble looking woman in black and silver armor. She wasn't deliberately posed but rather caught in the middle of a battle, silver sword in mid-swing, head turned to the heavens as a silver helmet fell away to reveal waves of luxurious auburn hair. The woman's eyes were green, like emeralds, like fresh spring grass, set in an amazingly heroic face, neither pretty nor lovely but heart stopping in the sheer nobility. It was a face that always caught your eyes.

"Ah, I see you've met Lady Shanara," Gareth said, coming up behind her.

"Who is she?" Mara asked, turning to look at him.

"The last woman to graduate from Red Fountain," Gareth said, stepping up to the painting. "That was centuries ago…"

"Red Fountain allowed female students?"

"Yes, long, long ago…" Gareth looked at her and Mara realized just how much he resembled the woman, especially with his classic features and fiery copper hair.

"She's your ancestor, isn't she?" she ventured to ask.

Gareth glanced back at her and smiled slowly. "You're too damn perceptive for your own good. Yes. Lady Shanara started my family so many centuries ago. And as for why she was the last of the official Red Fountain female specialists… we really don't know to this day. Some speculate that they decided it was too much to ask females to come after Lady Shanara. We may have so much technology but our history is always a little rusty. I just think that after her, little girls just didn't have the inclination or they were discouraged. After all, why be a knight when you can be a fairy with wings and magic?"

Mara flinched inwardly but looked at him steadily. "I never liked fairies too much," she said.

"Ouch. Don't say that too loudly here. They'll start calling you a witch."

Mara shook her head. "I've been called a witch before, both versions," she said mildly. "It won't be anything new." She looked up at the painting once again. "I liked the knights better, even if they were sops. At least they did something. If I were a princess, I'd as sooner climb out of the tower and get out of there."

Gareth looked at her. "Are all Earth girls like this?" he asked somewhat curiously.

"I'm an exception," Mara said. "I'm a red fish here and there." She grimaced a little. "While my friends were with tea sets and princess tiaras, I was running about with my older brothers and beating up the neighborhood bullies. I would insist on joining the 'knights' when we played fairy tales. Of course, when I was with the girls, they would make me play the ogre."

"Forgive me, but you're a sight better-and smell- than an ogre," Gareth said with a broad grin. Mara stared at him before socking him in the arm, but it was a half-hearted blow, which he dodged easily enough, laughing at her.

* * *

The mess hall wasn't as austere or… military as Mara had expected. It seemed like a cafeteria rather, with tile floors and various tables and booths scattered everywhere, the tables being taken as more boys entered the room. Gareth showed her where they could find trays and wait in line for food on the far right side of the long room. Mara was apprehensive as to the quality of the food but was pleasantly surprised to find them serving food that wasn't too distant from what she was used to, including burgers and fries.

It didn't even smell too bad, she had to admit, walking with bowl of rather savory stew, thick slices of bread, a wedge of pie, and what looked like a blended salad balanced on her tray, with Gareth not too far behind her. Unfortunately, just as she was turning to juggle some silverware and a drink onto her tray, she just tripped on an outstretched foot aided by a carefully calculated push. Food went flying as she just barely managed to fall without too much damage, having to forego the tray in order to land properly.

Gareth danced out of the way, setting his tray down quickly. "Mara! You all right?"

Mara nodded but looked balefully at the upturned bowl of stew congealing on the floor with shards of pottery mingling in the mess. "Nothing damaged, except for the plate."

"Watch where you're going and stay in the line, dammit," Gareth snapped to some of the mingling crowd.

Mara looked up as she slowly started to clean up. In the crowd, it was practically impossible to tell who had tripped her but she thought that she saw a few smirks passing about and her eyes narrowed. Gareth touched her shoulder. "Don't worry about the mess," he told her. By now one of the staff noticed the mess and grumbling, snapped her fingers. The tray hopped up, scooping up the mess of food on the floor, what being left peeling away and oozing onto the hovering tray. That being done, the tray levitated up and zoomed away.

"Right handy that is," Mara commented.

"Ever the optimist, are you? Come on. Let's get you another tray."

Mara filled her tray again (but avoided anything remotely liquid this time except for some juice), watching for stray legs and managed to avoid a repeat of the cafeteria disaster. She glanced at Gareth once they extracted themselves from the line. "You have anywhere to go to?" she asked.

He blinked at her. "Why?"

"Well… Shouldn't you be eating with the other instructors? You're a teacher and all."

Gareth laughed. "I'm also your sponsor and guide. It's in my best interest to eat with you."

Mara shrugged. "I'm used to eating alone, if you don't want to leave me alone."

Gareth would have flapped his hand at her if he had one free. "Feh. Enough with the chivalrous crap, Frey."

"Oi! Gary!" hollered a familiar voice. Andrei was waving frantically from a small table with a few boys, nearly smacking the hapless occupant of the seat next to him.

"Well, we have a table," Gareth said with a grin. "Shall we then?"

"We shall," Mara said, hiding her amusement.

The table was nearly full but not overly crowded. Along with Andrei were five other boys, most about Mara's age and probably entering freshmen. And of all things, the white haired boy with the feathers Mara had seen earlier was sitting there as well. He actually grinned at her, mischief lighting up his gray eyes. And-surprise, surprise-he wasn't staring at her chest. Not that she was wearing anything that was particularly _revealing_ to flaunt her none-too-well-endowed bosom…

Andrei patted the seat by him. "Sit here, Mara, and I'll introduce this gang to you."

Mara arched her eyebrows but took the offered seat as Gareth sat by her. The boys weren't giving her overly curious or disgusted looks but were glancing rather quizzically at Andrei or seemed to not care at all.

"Now, gentlemen, you have the honor of meeting the first female student at Red Fountain for over seven centuries," Andrei said. "Mara Frey."

"Err… Hi." Mara awkwardly waved.

Andrei was all but beaming. "Now, Gareth isn't the only one sponsoring. This is my charge, Marcus of Lyndoria." He gestured grandly to a rather petite boy with ash-blonde hair that reached about chin-level, who smiled a little shyly and waved back to Mara. "Marcus is also Gareth's and my younger cousin, connected on the mother's side."

Mara stifled an amused smile. Marcus seemed so… _cute_, especially considering how shy he was compared to his more striking and outspoken cousins. It didn't help he dressed rather boyishly, in loose white shirt and faded brown shorts.

"Pleasure to meet you," Marcus whispered, revealing that his voice had not completely broken, remaining a rather sweet soprano.

"Same here," Mara returned. Marcus reminded her of Daniel and a pan of homesickness suddenly rang in her heart.

But Andrei would not let her brood for long. "And this would be Bishop, of Circle 7 in the Tech galaxy. Sophomore and wicked with hook fighting, one of the few to take to it." The blue-haired man gestured very grandly to the boy by Marcus, who was significantly taller and larger.

Mara didn't know what to think of him. He was dressed in a worn out black shirt with something that looked vaguely like a band name and symbol and slouchy, worn out black jeans, looking more like a punk rocker than a knight. His mostly shaved head with its bright purple ponytail didn't help at all. He looked her over with very, very intense eyes that were an interesting mix of violet and gray. He grunted something before stirring his glass of soda.

"Next to Bishop is his charge, Thorne, of the sixth moon of Endor," Andrei said cheerily. "Don't ask about the name. The sixth moon is a major forest area though."

Thorne wasn't rather organic fellow Mara would have imagined him to be from that commentary. He was relatively ordinary, more conservative than his sponsor by all means, even if his brown-black hair was rather long, long enough to be tied in a braid with two long strands just falling into his eyes, considering he wore khakis and a button-down blue shirt. Mara wasn't surprised to see that his eyes were green however. Thorne looked up from a bowl of green Jello to nod politely to her.

"By Thorne is W. We don't ask what it stands for because he can rip us all up into julienne fries with his claws," Andrei informed Mara as he pointed to a curious male by Thorne. "He's from Circle 5-"

"Are you going to trace our family lines as well?" W asked with a somewhat savage grin, tossing back his blood-red hair and scratching at his rather well groomed pointed goatee. "Along with blood-type, birthday and sexual preference?"

He seemed to be of like with Bishop, considering he was wearing a worn out band shirt (name absolutely undeterminable) and equally abused jeans, though the metallic caps of steel-toed boots peeked out from the voluminous, battered hems instead of plain shoes.

"Oh, W, I didn't know you wanted me to advertise for you," Andrei teased. "Though I thought you and Bishop were getting along just fine…"

Bishop let out a growl, giving Andrei a glare that would have struck down many a lesser man. Of course, the rather flighty instructor only laughed. W during this time was regarding Mara.

"Like claws, kitty-cat?" he teased, lifting his hand. A curious fingerless glove was on his rather enormous hand, fitted with exactly three round, polished red stones in the shape of domes on the back of his hand, right where the base of the bones of the fingers would create bumps when he was forming a fist. He squeezed his fist slightly. With an electronic _zing_, red energy formed ghostly outlines of claws.

Wolverine, Mara realized, remembering the hero from her brothers' old comics.

Bishop sighed, reaching over and smacking W over the head. "Watch it before she actually does claw you," he rumbled, revealing that he had a rather pleasant alto for a speaking voice. "How many times have you used that line, you moron?"

W punched Bishop in the shoulder, to the dismay of poor Thorne, who was stuck between them. "And you think the 'cool, collected and stoic' act is going to help?"

Mara rolled her eyes as Thorne then shoved the two away, easing his chair back to attempt to get away from possible carnage.

"Lover's quarrel, I see," the white haired boy supplied helpfully, despite his dangerous spot by W's seat. He dodged an elbow that went flying his way.

Gareth looked at Thorne over a forkful of steak. "Put the claws away, W, before I confiscate them."

Bishop rolled his eyes, shaking his head, but Mara detected no real ire involved. W shrugged. "All in good fun," he said and he smirked at Mara, at which Mara glared back at him.

"We digressed, but onward! Now, last but certainly not least, W is the sponsor of this Nathanial Valeron of Popularus. Take care of your manners, Frey, he's a blue blood."

The white haired boy shook his head. "Just call me Nat," he said. "I'm a freshman after all. We're the scum of the school."

"Now, don't be so pessimistic, Valeron! You're only at the lowest level." Andrei winked. "Just for a year."

All of the freshmen gave Andrei deadpan looks.

* * *

Mara stared stonily at her room once she opened the door. The comforter was ripped as well as her wall scrolls, remnants of her flannel blanket and pillow scattered across the floor. Luckily her computer and most of her books were all right, being hidden rather well. The bathroom wasn't so lucky, judging by the ransacking that had been done to her toiletries.

Distinctly obscene pictures and remarks were scribbled all over the walls, splashed with things that Mara did not need to know about. But most prominent was the message in red ink, in spiky, dripping letters reading: "Go Home, Bitch."

Mara picked through the wreckage, surveying the damage. Her wall scrolls were done for, ripped and oddly enough, partially burned, as well as the little knick-knacks she had collected over the years from Renn Faires and the like. Her blood boiled as she bent to pick up the shattered remains of a once very lovely ceramic oil burner in the shape of a red dragon, a birthday present from her great uncle.

"Hey, I thought- Holy shit." Gareth had arrived and stared at the wreckage.

"So much for security," Mara said, picking up the fragments and cupping them in her hands. Maybe she could glue it together… not likely.

Gareth scowled, coming to her. "This should not have happened… I'm sorry."

"Well that doesn't do anything," Mara said, practically snapping. She glared at him. "If you're going to help, at least hold these for a while or call someone to help me clean this up." She all but shoved the fragments of the statuette into his hands. Then she whipped around, suddenly worried.

Her fears were realized at seeing a few crystal fragments on the ground. "No…" Mara whispered, bending to pick up what remained of her now dead aunt's first birthday present to her. A white lily, made of faceted crystal with a tiny bunch of yellow gems to imitate stamens, priceless work and a family heirloom, was now left in pieces, carelessly and maliciously broken.

"Hey Frey- What the hell happened?" Nat was in the doorway, Thorne and Marcus peeking in behind him with their respective sponsors crowding the hallway.

"Hazing gone too far," Gareth said as Mara stood up, holding the shattered petals of the lily in her now trembling hands.

She could replace the wall scrolls and her alarm clock, even her blanket and dragon oil burner, but this went too far. Her teeth began to grind very audibly as she delicately set the pieces of the flower on her desk, fussing for a moment and making sure each piece was gently set on the surface. She turned and punched the wall beside the dripping letters, finding only a mild pleasure in the sting and the dent she left behind.

"So it's going to be war then," she said, voice trembling with suppressed rage.

* * *

The room was now cleaned up, someone having employed spells to restore her alarm clock, wall scrolls, and shattered ornaments and books. Even the crystal lily had been fixed, and the wizard who had done it had handed it back to Mara delicately with a knowing look in his eyes.

Now that the room was clean with the mess reported to Codatorta (who had grumbled, a cloud falling over his already fearsome face), Gareth looked to Mara. "Here," he said, offering a new key. "Codatorta told me to give you this. Saladin also put a new spell on your door and windows so vandals won't be getting into your room."

Mara took the key and eyed it. It didn't look any different from before… But it wobbled and started shrinking, until a key shaped pendant was left in her hands. "Wear it around your neck for the time being then," Gareth said. "Need a chain?"

Mara opened her mouth to answer a negative, but he interrupted her by pulling a silver chain from his pocket. "Here." Without a by your leave, he took the key and strung it on the chain, offering it to her with a bow.

Closing her mouth with a click, Mara took it, fastening the chain about her neck. "Thank you."

"Saladin also coded it so that your door is voice activated and can identify you by life force signature. You can also add names and signatures to the door so that people you trust can come in." Gareth looked at her. "I hope this hasn't discouraged you…"

"Hell no," Mara said somewhat snappily. "It'll take more than a nasty name and some broken stuff to get me out of here." She rubbed her forehead. "I may as well send some of this stuff home anyways. It's not as though I'm going to need half these knick-knacks… especially family heirlooms."

"Optimistic to the end," Gareth said, shaking his head and reaching for her.

Mara blinked. Was he trying to hug her? But he only slapped her lightly on the back. "Get some sleep. You'll be up early tomorrow."

With that, he left the room, leaving Mara to her thoughts.

* * *

Whew, I finished. I'm so sorry everyone for making you wait. But on top of a skewed lovelife, exams, and extracurricular activities, I don't have much of a life when it comes to writing. I'll TRY to continue. Next up: Mara's first day of school. Oh joy. 


	4. Chapter 3: Pixie Pink PD8805 and Etiquet...

Author's Notes: As usual, I have some notes for all my wonderful readers.

ArcherofDarkness and Callie: -laughs- Mara's infatuated, I assure you, but she's in very bad denial. I assure you, she's not going to let it get in her way but being surrounded by a lot of attractive young men (men who probably would look better in a dress than her) does have certain… strange effects. She'll grudgingly admit they're attractive, on the other hand. But she's no hand a flirting, so she won't even bother. Besides, she's here to _study,_ not to get a boyfriend. -glares at the desperate princesses encountered in one too many Internet roleplays-

Story Weaver: -rolls eyes- Those hazers do have lives: Studying, being macho, fighting, and making sure THE GIRL gets out of Red Fountain.

nukerjsr: -shrugs- Perhaps. This story has many elements, from Mercedes Lackey with her Dragonriders stories and Valdemar series, Tamora Pierce with both her Song of the Lioness and Protector of the Small quartets, the Winx Club, some anime, and various other sources. Rest assured, Mara will meet the Winx girls and I've solidified my decision on the Red Fountain boys. Watch for clues in this chapter!

Curtis Zidane Ziraa: Ah, but one difference. Mulan went out of filial love. Mara's just a stubborn goat that hates the thought of being a giggly fairy.

GoldenDragonet: I'm glad to see Andrei has such a warm reception (Andrei: -preens under adoration-). He was actually a character I just made up on the spot to trap Gareth and Mara in the courtyard for a little longer. And now he's officially taking over… T.T And yes, that was cruel of the hazers, but I assure you, that's not the worst hazers can do to her.

haku wife: I'll try to update, but is there anything you think I can do to improve this -grubbing for more substantial reviews-

Insomniac Jaki: Winx Club is deplorable. Yet I watch it. I never claim to be sane. And as for the possible familiarity… -points to notes above and notes on the second chapter- It never hurts to read those comments. They may hold something important…

* * *

Chapter Three: Pixie Pink #PD-88-05 and Etiquette Class

* * *

Dreams usually come to the hero at this point in a story, dreams of some hidden figure who calls or sings to the protagonist. 

These dreams confuse the hero and take them to a level of understanding in which they vaguely realize something isn't right, but not quite realize that they are… special. This is the point when the audience starts to giggle and murmur about how _stupid_ and _dense_ the protagonist is after the dream. And of course, this is the mark of the protagonist's journey through a carefully scripted plot winding up to a showdown between the forces of good and evil.

Mara slept like a log that night.

* * *

Mara opened her eyes as a bell rang loudly as her hand immediately reached from the covers to smash her alarm clock. She sat up, yawning and stretching as she drowsily got out of bed to pad to her bathroom. It didn't strike her odd that it was still dark outside; she was used to getting up early. 

She dimly realized that the light automatically turned on when she entered the bathroom as she turned on the water to brush her teeth and wash her face. Feeling a little more human, she trudged out, still yawning.

She shrugged on a t-shirt and jeans and started to do some morning stretches. It was not for long before there was a knock at the door. She slowly got up and carefully opened it, only to find Gareth there, about to lift his hand to knock again.

"You're a bloody early bird," Gareth said.

He was no longer in his khakis and plain shirt, instead electing for a black shirt and loose white pants, something like sneakers on his feet (from what Mara could gather, she doubted sneakers were supposed to have that many buckles and buttons). His long hair had been tightly brushed to his head and tied back, making his classic face all the more striking.

Mara glared at him. "Very funny." Then she blinked. "What are you doing up early? I thought we didn't have to be up this early."

Gareth grinned, a hardly innocent expression, with no small degree of evilness. "I'm your sponsor, girl, and I like early morning exercise."

Mara opened her mouth before closing it with a sigh. "Let me get changed." With that, she shut the door in his evilly grinning face and shrugged out of her t-shirt and groped for some sweat pants and her sneakers.

Gareth all but shoved her out of the room once she was done. "We go for a light jog. And we may just have company."

The look on his face promised nothing but amusement- for him.

* * *

Mara felt a bit winded. She had been getting out of shape, she admitted, scowling at herself. Luckily Gareth wasn't going too fast, just pressing her on without rest. But the scenery made up for it, she had to admit. The sun was rising upon the mountain and the birds were awakening in the forest as they jogged along a winding dirt trail, heading to the lake. 

Gareth seemed to flit out of sight occasionally but seemed to come back just in time to scold her into continuing whenever she lagged. He didn't swat or yell at her, but made it quite clear that he was keeping an eye on her.

Just when Mara felt like she was going to drop, he announced that they were stopping, just as they emerged from the woods onto a little stretch of lakeshore. The sun was now making the waters beautiful sapphire blue, leaving gold trails on the soft waves that lapped on a pebble and mud beach.

"Make sure to walk," Gareth said as Mara paused to catch her breath. "Your muscles will cramp up if you're not careful." He seemed perfectly fine; for all you knew, he had just been strolling along the path leisurely.

Mara glared at him and did so, strolling about on her sore legs and wincing as her breathing steadied.

"Don't bother glaring at me, Frey," Gareth said, looking, for what it was worth, like he was merely observing the sun on the waters. "I'm getting you into shape."

Mara winced. She stretched her legs. "Yeah. I figured."

"Codatorta's going to make your life hell, you know," Gareth said. "He won't necessarily do it like the hazers and destroy your stuff. He's going to look away when he can and he's going to make sure you get the hardest tasks. He's going to give you a regime that'll make even the juniors flinch. He's got the keys, Frey, and most of the board on his side."

Mara shook her head, but not in denial. She had a feeling of that anyways. Gareth bent and picked up a flat pebble from the beach. He maneuvered it in his hand and threw it across the waters, skipping it. "It's not fair, really. But you have to get through it. Beat him at his own game."

Mara came up behind him and picked up a pebble of her own. She traced it with her fingers, rubbing at the dirt still clinging to its gray surface. "No, I'm going to let him run me down." She flicked her wrist, sending the pebble flying. "Fat chance, sir."

Gareth looked at her as the pebble soared, jumping three times before sinking. His eyes, dark and impenetrable in the early morning light, seemed to be weighing her at that moment, seeing her mettle and her worth. For a long moment, he deliberated, a judge on the bench, leaving her hanging. A soon to be familiar evil smile crossed his lips. "Then let's get on with it; you've only gone two miles."

* * *

By the time Mara trudged back up to her room to take a quick shower before breakfast (to her irritation, Gareth was utterly pristine at the end of his jog), she was covered in sweat and proud to say she had run about five miles and had gotten a rather intensive and makeshift tour of Red Fountain's forest. Throwing her sweat soaked clothing into the hamper, she let the hot water spill over her as her eyes closed. 

The steady pounding soothed her muscles, calming her rapid heartbeat. It was with great reluctance she left the shower, rubbing herself dry. Throwing her hair back, she wrung it out before grabbing a claw clip to hold it as she pulled on a t-shirt and jeans again. Steam trailed out of the bathroom as she trudged out, stretching out her sore muscles.

While she was hunting out a new pair of socks, another knock was at the door. "Come in," she called, managing to match two socks and pulling one on. "The door's unlocked."

This time, it was Nathanial who came in, in his khakis again but with a light green shirt this time. He gently shut the door behind him. "Keep it open," Mara said, digging for shoe. "I'm not supposed to have guys in the room with the door closed." Upon remembering who he was, she added, "If you please."

The boy arched an eyebrow. "Man they're tough on you. By the way, don't bother with formalities. Like I said, we're all scum here." He pulled open the door and left it lightly ajar.

Mara jerked her head. "Pull up a chair if you want. But I'm going out soon."

Nathanial seemed curious about the room, going about and leisurely looking at the restored knick-knacks. He glanced at her poster of a scarred red-haired warrior glaring fiercely at onlookers while brandishing a curved blade. "Interesting guy; looks like my cousin Rosaline," he commented, going up to the wallscroll for a closer look.

"Cartoon character in my world," Mara explained though Nathanial already seemed to realize that. She had already pulled on her shoes and stood up. "I don't want to be rude, but what are you doing here?"

Nathanial looked at her with his pale gray eyes. "Well, we really didn't get to talk yesterday."

Mara arched both her eyebrows at him. "Oh?"

Nathanial grinned winningly at her. "Thanks to Andrei and W, the rest of us were rendered mute."

Mara snorted. "Please. You were the one inciting nothing short of outright warfare."

"So I was," Nathanial agreed. "But you have to admit, it was amusing."

"For you, chaos bringer," Mara retorted.

"But- in that chaos," he continued, as if she had never spoken. "You were stifled, unable to give us undoubtedly rich stories of your home planet and your life, tell us more about your fair self. In fact… all we really know are your name and your planet."

Mara gave him a very long look. "Are you kidding me?" she asked bluntly.

Nathanial mimed falling in pain. "Oh! You wound me with your sharp barb to such an innocent question!"

Mara rolled her eyes. "If you were that interested, I'll tell you right now," she said, deadpan. "I'm from Earth, a planet which is apparently beyond obsolete compared to here. I live in a city called Cypress Grove. I have two parents and three brothers, two older, one younger. I'm sixteen and I'm already a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. I like mythology and legends, though I don't like fairies very much. My favorite color is dark blue, but I also like black and silver. Is that enough for you?"

Nathanial nodded, smiling. "You have good taste," he said. "I'm fond of blue and black myself."

Mara looked at him, somewhat taken aback. "You were actually listening?"

Nathanial laughed. "I make it my interest to learn about people and memorize what they have to say. My father beat it into me." He favored her with another winning smile.

Mara tried not to blush. Damn! Why did the guys here have to be so- so- _infuriating_?

"Well then, Mara, it is only right I tell you my side then, though you'll have to tell me more about yourself to hear more about me!" He cleared his throat officiously before easily rattling off, "I am a prince of Popularus, a constitutional monarchy with a gracious and charismatic populace who generally make excellent orators and are all around good hosts. I too have two parents, who are King and Queen of the august planet, and I have two older sisters, Helene and Chrysolite, already ancient when compared to me. I am sixteen as well and my favorite subjects have always been history and rhetoric, as I have always had high marks in them. I cannot say I share your sentiment about fairies, considering my mother is one. I do not have a single favorite color but I am very partial to dark blue and black, like I said earlier."

That took a while to digest. Mara blinked. "Wait- you're a _prince_?" Blue-blood… but- but-

"Prince indeed," Nathanial said. "Though don't bother with the majesty and the highness crap. It's annoying quite frankly and I'm at your level as a freshie. Also known as 'fresh meat,' by the seniors."

Mara couldn't help but laugh a little. "Sounds like my high school," she said, before realizing just how informal she was being. This guy- this _prince_, was actual royalty!

Nathanial seemed to have realized her horror. "Don't worry. It doesn't count as much here," he said, not unkindly. "There're plenty of princes here but they get ordered about too. It's military school after all."

Mara bit her lip. "I suppose so," she admitted. "By the way, sorry about the fairy comment-"

Nathanial brushed it off. "I gather that you have a very different perception of fairies, judging from the hideous artwork that is so prevalent on your planet. Fairies here are a little different."

Mara rubbed the back of her head. Her hair was already drying, thank god for the short cut. "Well- I'm sorry anyways. I didn't mean to insult you."

Nathanial grinned. "Hey, I said drop it. Or do I have to order you?" He had a mockingly imperious note in his voice but Mara realized just how used to position and privilege this boy was.

It was clear in how he held himself, a little taller, a little straighter than most teenage boys, no matter how hard he tried to slouch and shove his hands into his pockets, like most of the teenage guys Mara knew too well. He tilted his head just so, eyes shrewd and already a little polished. He spoke carefully, pitch and words chosen with all the precision of a master jeweler with his tools of trade and stones.

"You'll call me a 'saucy wench' by the time you realize just how casual I can be, you know," Mara said, showing no sign that she was joking in her voice though a slow smile was flicking across her face. "And that will probably be the least of the insults."

"Please, the last time I used 'wench,' my own mother washed my mouth out with extra strong dish washing detergent," Nathanial said.

"Ew." Mara shuddered a little.

Gareth poked his head into the room. "Are you coming onto my student?" he asked mildly enough.

Nathanial looked horrified. "How could you say such a thing, Gareth?" he asked. "She is a lady to be revered."

Mara was at this time glaring a hole into Nathanial's head. Gareth laughed darkly. "Don't turn around, Valeron. If looks can kill…"

Nathanial whirled around to face Mara, blinked, turned a little ashen, and turned right back around. "You're right."

"And that took all of… 4.5 seconds," Gareth said, looking up from his watch.

Mara stormed past Nathanial. "I just want breakfast, once you two are done flirting with each other," she grumbled.

Nathanial and Gareth looked at each other once she had stormed off. As one, they sighed.

* * *

Not one to skimp on breakfast (considering her workout this morning!), Mara piled on toast, eggs, hash browns, oatmeal and fruit onto her tray, wary of stray legs/hands/shoves. She sniffed a little and detected a pot of tea somewhere. Seizing a mug, she went over to what looked like an old-fashioned tea urn already letting out plumes of fragrant steam. Green tea, if she wasn't mistaken. Coffee gave her a headache this early in the morning and she needed something hot to drink. 

But just as she was about to reach for the polished silver handle, someone else's hand was there. She blinked, turning as her eyes fell on Bishop. He looked at her somewhat dourly as he picked up the urn to pour himself a cup.

"I doubt you'd like this," he said after a moment as he set the glass and silver vessel back on its (magically?) heated metal stand.

"I like tea, thanks," Mara said rather placidly. "Coffee makes me ill."

He arched an eyebrow before taking her mug and pouring her some. "Next time, ask before helping yourself to other people's drinks," he said gruffly, setting the mug on her tray. With that, he turned and walked off.

"Don't mess with him and the tea," Gareth said lightly. "He's into meditation and such. Doesn't look like it, eh?" He had a no less hearty meal on his own tray but had a cup of coffee in his hand, which he seemed to be drinking black.

Mara made a face at him for the coffee. But she looked at Bishop, who was sitting next to W and starting on a pile of eggs. "Appearances are deceiving," she said mildly enough.

Gareth shook his head. "You're too diplomatic sometimes," he told her. "Being polite can cause madness."

Mara looked at him. "I'm already crazy," she said mildly enough, walking off to a table and sitting down. Gareth joined her as she ripped into her toast and sausage. He blinked at her as he sipped his coffee.

She made a face at him as she grabbed her mug of tea. "I'm still growing."

"I thought only we could use that," Nathanial commented, coming over.

"Hardly," Mara said and looked at him. "Shouldn't you be with W? He _is_ your sponsor."

Nathanial shook his head, taking a sip of orange juice. "He doesn't want to be anywhere near me right now. I'm too 'peppy' for him right now." He actually smirked for a moment.

"You talk too much," Gareth commented, sipping his coffee.

Nathanial bowed a little mockingly. "My apologies, great master."

Mara shook her head. "Shut up before you hurt yourself," she advised. Nathanial only gave her a dazzling smile, at which she only shook her head. Gareth was going to make him _pay_, if that dark and faintly sadistic look in the older man's eyes was any indication.

* * *

Gareth took Mara to a room nearby the practice arena after breakfast. "Here, we fixed it up so you can use this to change," he told her, gesturing to the rather worn out door. "Your locker and equipment is all in here and it's locked with magical recognition; all you have to do is open the door and it'll open for you. We checked it, by the way, and no one's tampered with this." 

Mara touched at the door and jumped as it rattled and slid back, revealing a tiled room with a battered locker to one side and another door, probably a bathroom. "Equipment?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"Your uniform," Gareth said. "It's all enchanted to fit, so don't worry."

"Handy for the quartermaster," Mara said. Then she looked at him pointedly. "Do you mind?"

Gareth took the hint and went off with most of his dignity intact. Mara shook her head, going to the locker and ready to dodge aside if any traps were waiting for her. She was _not_ going to leave anything to chance. Luckily Gareth was right and no one had set up a trap in her locker for her. All that were inside were a long blue and white body suit and a pair of high black boots. A bundle on a small shelf above the hanging body suit revealed a bright blue cloak, fastened with a plain brooch made of a dull gray metal in the shape of a circle. No Red Fountain trefoil, how odd.

Mara reached inside, taking out the body suit and examining it. It wasn't quite like a wetsuit, made of a material that seemed both soft and flexible at the same time yet with no discernable weave that she could find. It wasn't foam or latex, but something utterly alien. Luckily there were no hidden zippers and she wasted no time in getting out of her jeans and slipping into it. Upon reflection, she thought it was a better idea to leave her shirt on, just in case. As she put it on, the material resisted slightly but stretched easily enough to fit closely but not tightly around her body. The zipper practically flew up by itself, sealing the suit about her body as she fastened a belt attached to the suit comfortably around her waist. She turned about, moving in it. Hm. Not as oppressive as wearing a bodysuit would seem. It would take some getting used to, on the other hand, when she was too used to karate _gi _and _hakama_.

The boots fit to her feet like a dream, after resisting for the briefest of moments, as if to test her feet. She walked around on them, finding them almost as comfortable as her favorite pair of sneakers. The heels weren't a problem, as she stomped a little, and were a bit of a blessing, considering how solid they sounded. When she was about to go out, something _stabbed_ at her brain.

"Ouch!" She touched at her forehead and when she glanced at her locker, she found her attention on the cloak. She grumbled and trudged back, throwing the cloak on. Not that it would help in fighting… But she couldn't argue. Mara looked at herself one last time in the mirror and surveyed the image.

She looked… almost noble, she decided. Not as noble as Lady Shannara, of course, but decidedly purposeful. Different. Mara brushed stray strands of hair from her eyes, blinking. She looked so serious, especially now, her small lips pursed slightly in something like a frown. Her eyes didn't hold the excitement she felt in her heart and when she tried to smile, it came out like a smirk, a somewhat twisted expression. How odd. She touched the mirror once and immediately left the locker room.

* * *

Mara found her way to the practice arena easily enough, some compulsion guiding her lightly, as if Gareth was right by her touching her arm with the softest of touches. She wasn't the first there. A few other males milled about, touching at their belts as if searching for a weapon that was not quite there. 

They ignored her for the most part. She looked about the dirt field, feeling too much like a gladiator ready to be trained for the ghostly audience watching from the seats. She scuffed her boot lightly on the ground, feeling nervous suddenly.

Something scratched behind her; she whirled. "Boo," Nathanial said with a grin.

He, to Mara's disgust (and envy), looked _wonderful_ in the uniform. She surveyed his form for a moment and flushed as he did a little twirl for her. "Like what you see?" he teased.

Mara sighed. "Naturally, o prince," she said sardonically. "You _must_ look noble after all."

"Ouch, to the heart," Nathanial teased.

She only glared at him for a moment. But it held little heat. Nathanial was nice enough. Just annoying.

Students were swarming in around them, all of them presumably freshmen. They milled around, some looking rather uncomfortable, talking and mock fighting. They weren't left to their own devices for long however.

Total silence spread like a chill wind through the crowd as Codatorta came out to the arena. He surveyed them under his craggy eyebrows, dark eyes holding no emotion.

He seemed to scowl however when he saw Mara. "You lads," he growled, giving no concession to Mara, who was more than happy about that. "Are here to learn to fight.

"Saladin gave ye all that tripe 'bout warriors and nobility. But what I'm 'ere for is to whip the lot of ye into shape. What I see afore me isn't promising. Can I polish ye to weaponry? Or is the lot of ye too dull to be polished? Are ye clay or are ye metal?" He met the silently fuming in the crowd with a snarl on his face.

"Clay crumbles," the armsmaster said, picking up a clod of dirt from the arena that the students somehow missed. He crushed it with a hand like a ham. "Metal-" He pulled out a frighteningly large sword with a sharp _shing_ from its scabbard at his hip. "Kills. Which are ye?"

Mara heard a few audible gulps from the crowd of students and more looking rather nervous now. The training master sheathed the sword easily, letting it settle in its scabbard with a click. "But, don' even _dare_ to think ye will be near a weapon. 'afore we send you to the armory to even _look_ at the _practice_ weaponry, ye're learnin' the _basics_. I don't give a flying _fook_ about who you've gotten trained from over the last years. You're freshmen. We break you and remake you. And we see how you handle it." The look on Codatorta's face dared any of them to protest.

He stalked about them. "Fer now, we're teachin' ye the basics. Hand to hand combat is in your curriculum for the next month, as well as strength-building, stamina. 'ow do you even think ye can bear a sword in battle while wearin' armor if ye can't last one lap around here? Frey! Come over here!"

Mara didn't let herself hesitate as she quickly ran over to the training master. "Yes sir?" she asked, standing at attention.

Codatorta eyed her with all the fervor of her grandmother when looking at a particularly stubborn stain on the kitchen tiles. "Come at me, girl," he growled.

She stared at him. What in the world?

"Well, show me what you've got, girl! I'm no pixie!" the training master barked sharply, glaring at her.

Mara looked up at the much taller man, who, without running, rushed at her without warning. She dodged his charge before barraging positively rude blows to attack and parry, especially nasty ones going to his groin, which she pulled for the most part. The boots skidded on the ground as she tried to undo her cape, finally all but ripping it off to get out of the way.

Professor Codatorta, as bulky as he was, gave her every bit of fight he could, blocking her blows, despite one or two that were perilously close to striking. Finally, they were locked, each blocking the other's punch, and while Mara was breathing a little hard, the man wasn't even sweating.

The boys who had been watching were staring, some wincing, some glaring.

"That was dirty!" one of them spoke up angrily. "You never do that in a fair fight-"

"Isn't this about honor, sir?" another asked. "Not about dirty tricks?"

Professor Codatorta looked at the rest of his class, disengaging. Mara quickly pulled her arm back, standing straight. She spotted her bright blue cloak on the dusty ground and winced a little.

"True, 'onor is important, but this girl here also teaches an important part of battle. Survival." He smiled thinly at them. "Sooner or later, ye lads will face true danger, true battle. That is when yer life becomes more important than all else, even yer ideals. That is when desperation will come and ye will use any weapon at yer disposal to win."

He pointed to her. "She already has advantages and she knows 'em. She aimed for the spots that would hurt the most, not caring if it will permanently damage. To anyone who would underestimate her, she is already the victor. That is not to say she is exemplary nor should you use such low fighting tactics while sparring fellow classmates…" He let his eyes rove the class with the coolness of a midwinter night before latching onto Mara. "But let this be a lesson to ye _all_."

Mara met his eyes. "Who taught ye, girl?" he asked.

"My brothers, and I trained at a dojo. I also- did some street fighting." Mara ignored the snickers and snide remarks from the boys. She met Codatorta's eyes evenly.

The training master gave her a long look. "I certainly hope that it was in self-defense," he said coolly.

"Yes sir."

She was given another appraising look before the training instructor finally lashed out at the rest of her classmates. "One round about the entire school!" he barked. "On the double ya lazy sods!"

The boys groaned before half-heartedly starting to jog out of the arena. Mara only started at an easy pace after picking up her cloak and fastening it about her securely again, ignoring the glares from the males.

"Lag behind and ye'll be in the armory cleaning after the seniors tonight!" Codatorta roared from behind them and everyone scurried away faster.

Mara sidestepped just in time as a clump of students passed her, no few legs kicking at her, trying to trip her. She focused on running, her face a grim mask.

No few boys were panting by the time they made it back to the arena. Codatorta wasn't even sweating, to the obvious disgust of the freshmen.

"Stop whining, ya babies!" he snarled. "The workout's not even begun!"

Mara gritted her teeth as he proceeded to pound them into exercises that seemed rather asinine for such a "high" school. Her ears blistered with his rather graphic curses, as he launched into long rants about their pedigrees and probable mental capacity. _'I think I could learn from him,'_ she thought vaguely as he scolded them on making the wrong kind of kick for the second time. _'Though Mom would probably wash my mouth out with soap.' _

By the time he finally released them with a particularly grimly cheerful note of reminder that their training had just begun, all of them were sweaty, grimy, and none too charitable. Mara slipped away from them just in time to go to her locker room. She all but peeled the suit away, grimacing as she walked into the shower.

'At least it's clean,' she thought as she turned on the water, ducking inside. She lifted her hand to run it through her damp hair and when she pulled it away, it was bright pink.

"Shit!"

* * *

It was a decidedly angry Mara Frey that exited the locker room in her t-shirt and jeans. Luckily the water had turned clear after she had shrieked and jumped away in time. But her hair hadn't escaped unscathed. It appeared magical dyes were particularly potent, not even requiring bleaching to stick to dark hair.

No matter how much she scrubbed, the damage had been done. Part of her black hair was now bright magenta. _'At least it wasn't rose petal pink,'_ she amended grimly. Constant scrubbing had gotten most of the initial dye out but there was no removing it now, unless she dyed it back. _'Which I will do as soon as possible.'_

It was a rather… garish look. The pink had dribbled onto her hair, leaving streaks of bright magenta, somewhat darkened perhaps by her frantic shampooing, in rough dagger shaped lines cutting through her black hair. She growled, gritting her teeth.

"Wow… nice look, Frey."

Mara turned to give Gareth one of the ultimate "Comment again and you DIE" glares. She hissed, "This is not amusing, Gareth."

With impudence that utterly astounded Mara, Gareth reached out and weighed part of her pink locks in his rough hand. "While I wouldn't think that you would have chosen pink, the wild look somehow suits you," he said mildly.

Mara glared at him. "If you think flattery makes it any better, it doesn't," she snapped. "What you can do to help is help me find a black dye to change this back."

Gareth raised his hands, letting go. "Okay, okay." He let his hand hover above her head, eyes going blank. "_Negre_."

Mara felt something tickle the top of her head for a moment as a sensation of something sliding from her head down her neck caused shivers to go up her spine. Gareth looked at her and looked rather apologetic. "Sorry, Mara," he said. "Either my magic isn't strong enough or the dye is magic resistant for the moment. You're stuck with it until this weekend, when we can go to Magix to get some dye to cover this."

"What? You mean- I'm stuck with _this_ for a week?" Mara took some deep breaths, trying not to scream, pulling at her hair. The fact that Gareth had suddenly tried to do magic flew right over her head in her fury. "I'll cut it off first."

Gareth touched at her hands, stopping her from further damage. "Don't worry, kiddo. It doesn't look bad. The teachers don't really care. We have so many strange traditions that pink hair is the least of it all. You should see the guys from the Outer Genima rings. Their manhood tradition starts at thirteen where they have to put brass needles-"

Mara grimaced. "I _don't_ want to know," she interrupted him. Her stomach suddenly growled. Her workout (and her fit) had left her feeling rather empty around the middle. She blushed a little at the insistent, audible sound.

Gareth laughed. "It's lunch time. I don't want to spoil your appetite. Come on."

Mara didn't need any more encouragement than that.

* * *

Nathanial joined them just as Mara was about to bite into a hearty sandwich stuffed with ham, lettuce, and tomato. She nodded to him nicely enough, mouth full of ham and bread. 

He goggled a little at her. "What's with the hair?"

She glared at him until she could swallow. "Shower mishap," she said a little sourly, stabbing a straw into her cup of juice and taking a long sip. Her bad mood was now returning now that she had food.

"I don't think you're the only one," Andrei said, coming over unexpectedly with Marcus trailing behind as well as W and Bishop. Thorne waded through the crowd not long after grabbing a cup of carrot juice. They all settled around, the freshmen devouring the food as though it were their last meal, to the amusement of the guides.

Andrei's hair was still bright blue, much to Mara's disgust, so she arched her eyebrows at him. "Oh?"

"Senior prank," Bishop said tersely. He pointed to some rather disgruntled students getting their drinks with varying streaks and splotches of lurid pink in their hair.

"This happens almost all the time," W added with a long-suffering grimace. "Seniors get into the water supply and add magical dye into it right before it pipes into the lower classmen's showers."

"Always in such… garish colors, I imagine," Mara said dryly, pointing to her hair. Both sophomores nodded.

Andrei shrugged. "Don't worry, from what I heard, it'll fade on its own," he said. "Even if it does resist most magical efforts to get rid of it."

"My hair is bloody _pink_," Mara grumbled. "I _loathe_ that color." She ripped into her sandwich, the food only partially mollifying her temper.

"At least it doesn't have patterns in it," W commented. "Last year, on the Day of the Royals, the seniors managed to put a dye that makes the hair turn sky blue with pink rabbits in the sophomore and freshman showers."

Practically everyone at the table shuddered at the image. Mara wondered what the Day of the Royals exactly _was_. It seemed fairly big though… "What happened next?" Thorne asked, voicing the unasked question.

W stirred his soda. "Oh, the freshmen got their revenge. By managing to pants each and every senior at the ball after the Day of the Royals." He grinned wickedly.

* * *

Mara followed Gareth once a bell had rung, warning the students that the end of lunch was near. "Now it's for your academic classes," Gareth said. He handed her a thin sheet of paper. "Here's your schedule for now." 

Mara perused the paper. It appeared today she had all her classes, as introduction sessions. She let her eyes fall over the interesting titles on the parchment, imagining each one. Linguistics, Creatures, Tactics, Survival and Healing, Geography of the Universe, Etiquette and Courtly Manners, and History and Lore were neatly printed on the parchment, all in the afternoon, unless punctuated by weapons or fighting sessions.

Gareth looked over her shoulder. "Linguistics first then," he said. "Watch for me in Creatures, Tactics, and Survival class. I got pulled into assistant duty. Not too many the seniors are trusted this year." He grinned wryly.

"The bunny incident," Mara said ironically, offering a wry smile of her own.

"In more ways than one," Gareth muttered with a twisted smirk. "Come on then. Let's get your supplies. If you're late, you're dead here."

"Anything I particularly need?" Mara asked.

Gareth shook his head. "Get something to write notes on. I suppose you have a PC?"

Mara nodded. "Well, I have a laptop."

Gareth sighed. "No, not that kind. Personal Communicator. Like this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim blue and silver pad. The closest thing that Mara could compare it to was one of the new keyboard cellphones at home, with a clear cover and a bright LCD screen. He showed it to her. "Cell phone, navigator, journal, camera, calculator, communicator, and computer all at once. Mine's a bit old but I upgraded it. Now it's foldable."

Mara held it, feeling the slight warmth in her palm. "Wow. That's convenient."

"I can get you one if you want," he offered. "This weekend's free and we can go to downtown Magix."

Mara winced a little. "How much does this cost?" she asked, handing it back carefully. She had money but wasn't sure how dollars converted to whatever currency they used here.

"I know a place where they sell them cheap. New ones."

Mara looked at him as she opened her bedroom door. "Let me guess, black market."

Gareth chuckled. "You heard nothing from me." He lifted a finger to his lips, winking.

Mara shook her head, going to her room to get her things, throwing a notepad, some pens and pencils, her calculator, and upon further reflection, her laptop, just in case, into her backpack.

Gareth spotted her laptop. "Hey, let me get a look at that later. I think Bishop might want to see it too. He's a tech freak."

Mara looked at him a bit suspiciously. "You're not going to break it to look at it, are you?"

Gareth lifted his hands as she locked her door. "Hey, we'll put it back together, and it'll probably be better."

Mara snorted. "Probably." She pulled out her cellphone from a pocket in her backpack. "Damn. I should have put this back."

Gareth's eyes gleamed when he saw it. "Could I see that?" Without a by your leave, he took it from her, examining it.

"By the Dragon this is _old_," he exclaimed. "How do you live?"

"It's pretty recent on my planet," Mara said a little waspishly. "Granted, it's a secondhand one my parents got for free."

Gareth shook his head. "That is why, my friend, you need a PC. You can even program it with your Earth numbers." He handed the phone back. "This relic should be in a museum, you know."

Mara glared at him. "I thank you to not insult my possessions. Not all of us are princes, you know."

Gareth gave her a long look. "Bitter, aren't we?" he said mildly, in a silken tone that just told Mara she had stepped a little too far. The storm cloud fled soon enough, however. He shrugged a little. "Let me borrow the laptop then. I'll make a few upgrades on it, connect you to the system here." He offered his hand.

Mara hesitated. Her laptop had been a present for her sixteenth birthday and did not come cheap. But she opened her back and handed the slim notebook to Gareth. "All right. But if it's broken, I'm coming after you and whoever you got to take it apart."

"Knight's honor," Gareth said, saluting her as he took the laptop. "Trust me, this'll be the envy of all your Earth friends once I'm done with it." He flashed her a dazzling smile, too reminiscent of Nathanial.

* * *

Linguistics was in a small, comfortable room that reminded Mara of her high school English department. A dignified gentleman with silver in his chestnut brown hair named Professor Hawkins taught that class, seeming to be always in a good-naturedly scholarly mood, occasionally needing silver glasses to squint at someone with enormous, lucid blue eyes. Mara scribbled notes down as he lectured on what languages they would learn, ranging from Ogrish to Ellywin (language of the elves). 

Over the next few hours, Mara had a rather thorough experience on the curriculum of Red Fountain:

Creatures included learning about ogres and dragons and care of them, courtesy of a tiny little woman with flyaway dust brown hair named Professor Marguerite. She cheerily told them that their first lessons would be in helping her clean the cages of the creatures housed in Red Fountain (to their disgust) but she would also be one of their chief instructors in dragon wrangling (to much excitement).

Tactics was taught by Professor Codatorta and several other instructors (to the dismay of the freshmen) in a room labeled the "Practice War Room," a rather dilapidated storeroom still filled with dust and lit with a single light bulb and torches.

Survival and Healing would be a _very_ rigorous course. The instructor was a rather young and grim young man already with hard lines etched on his pale face with eyes that were more than half-mad. He curtly told them that he was not as young as he looked and that he was "not a bloody friend, but a teacher, and would be treated as such." He went by the name Chaucer and rounded savagely on those who dared mock his name.

Geography of the Universe proved to be an interesting class, with a jolly old man who insisted on being called Tiberius and all but danced with glee, pelting Mara with questions about Earth. It took Gareth to gently remind him that Mara had Etiquette and History class after to get the dear, eccentric old man to desist. Even then, the professor insisted that Mara come to his classroom after classes for a cup of tea and a further discussion.

Etiquette and History would be two very different stories.

* * *

The lady looked to the class. "I may be teaching you history, but I will also be your etiquette teacher. All of you are to be gentlemen." There were scattered snickers, only to be broken by the teacher smacking a ruler sharply onto her desk. "Enough. I will take no impudence from any of you." Her voice was quiet but sharp, cutting with all the force of a sword. "I will be addressed as 'Professor Lenore' or 'Madam Hazel' in this class. 'My lady' will also do. Cross me and I can make your life positive misery, gentlemen." 

She had not changed from her garb of conservative librarian's clothing, her hair still in its tight bun. Eyes like green colored ice penetrated each and everyone with something like disdain and keen determination, as though she were a jeweler, and each of them mores than questionable stones given to her to peruse.

Nathanial didn't seem _too_ affected, as he carelessly slouched in his chair within the enormous classroom. He seemed out of place, even with his royal etiquette in this pristine room with hardwood desks, open windows, clean chalkboard with notes written on it with precise letters of white chalk, enormous charts and 3-D holograms of proper etiquette in meals, dance, and introduction. He probably knew all the deportment and manners he needed anyways…

The instructor's eyes glared into Mara's. "And if you please, Miss Frey, you will be staying after class for a discussion."

"Yes, ma'am," Mara said quietly as Nathanial shook his head. He was doodling on his notebook. Mara stretched a little and could see that he was making a caricature of Codatorta.

Professor Lenore immediately launched into a brutal description of her curriculum, including an enormous list of books and expectations for the year. "All of you will exit this room this year with enough competence to be courteous to even the most stringent of courts," she said frostily. "I have no compunction of holding my students back. If that is what it takes to learn, well, I am for it."

The bell rang and students shifted to leave but the professor pinned them all to their seats with a glare that made the Artic positively warm in comparison. "Last I recall, your history class is within this room," she said coldly. "You may put down your bags, gentlemen."

The freshmen muttered less than flattering things under their breaths as they sat down again. Professor Lenore clapped her hands once and the etiquette diagrams and manuals vanished to be replaced with virtual maps and family genealogies. Books piled high on the shelves, each thick and looking old as dirt, ready to fall apart.

Gareth stepped into the class, hair damp and in his plain costume of shirt and khakis. He seemed relaxed but utterly professional, having full confidence in himself and his abilities.

"Madame," he said to Professor Lenore with a bow. She actually smiled, holding out her hand, which Gareth lifted to his lips to kiss graciously.

"Gareth, wonderful of you to join us on time," she said, seeming to be in good humor.

"I would never miss a chance to be in your radiant presence especially with your deft touch in this marvelous subject," Gareth said, all politeness and charm.

Several boys snorted in the back, making gagging faces.

"You gentlemen could take notes from Gareth's example," Professor Lenore said without even looking in their direction. "He will also be helping me teach you in your etiquette classes." When the bell rang again, signaling the start of class, she looked to Gareth. "If you would like to start, Gareth?"

"It would be my honor, Madame," Gareth said, all dignity. He nodded to her and she let a ghost of a smile cross her lips before she slipped to what was probably her office from a door on the side of the room.

Gareth faced them, shaking back his hair. Once the door had slid shut, he cracked a smile. "I don't bite," he said kindly enough.

That startled a few chuckles out of some of the boys. They seemed a little more relieved at having a younger male in the role of teacher now. Even Nathanial straightened up a bit.

Gareth ran a hand through his hair. "I may be your student teacher, but Professor Lenore will be teaching you for the most part."

Groans came from the audience.

Gareth held up a hand. "Let's not even go there. Deportment is an important skill of any specialist. You never know if you will end up in a Royal Court. Fighting isn't always a valued skill. What distinguishes a common soldier from a specialist is not necessarily training and expertise. A specialist is a knight, a knight trained in arts and knowledge as well as battle skills." He smiled wryly. "I assure you, etiquette is a battle in itself. Have fun doing this, guys. You don't get a choice, but enjoy yourselves."

"Doesn't this include dancing?" came a voice from the back. It was a rather harsh looking young man with cold blue eyes and bright red hair.

"Yes. But I assure you, dancing comes in handing when you're dating an Alfea girl," Gareth said. "You'd be surprised when a waltz can come in handy."

"That means we have to dance… with each other." Some boys in the front were grimacing.

Gareth looked at them, deadpan. "I did it. My manhood is still intact, thanks. Just because one of you will have to play the part of a girl doesn't mean you _will_ be a girl. Though you guys are lucky. You actually have one girl in your class to work with. Be nice to her; it may make all the difference."

Mara suddenly felt as though every eye on the room was on her. She tried very hard not to sink into her desk and die. Etiquette was going to be an _interesting_ class indeed…

* * *

The bell rang all too late for the exhausted boys and they all pelted from the room as fast as possible. Mara hesitantly stepped to the front, where Professor Lenore was at the desk in front of the main chalkboard. "Sit down, Ms. Frey," the woman said, waving her hand once the door had been shut. A chair skidded forward from the side to settle in front of the imposing desk. 

Mara slowly sat down. Professor Lenore opened a drawer, seeming to be regarding Mara surreptitiously, out of the corner of her eyes.

"You have a harder task, Miss Frey," the teacher said after a pause. "For I must make you into a lady." She pulled out some papers.

"What?" Mara looked incredulously at the bespectacled figure before her.

Those green eyes were anything but kind. "Yes. I must make you into a lady. I will not have you sit out my class while the gentlemen learn about proper table etiquette and dance steps, but I will not for one moment allow you, girl, to be a ruffian and settle simply for the male side of manners, despite reconnaissance work that you would do."

Mara blinked at that term. "Excuse me?"

"I digress. You will be meeting me after hours for proper behavior as a lady. Even if you become a specialist, you will be attending functions."

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I believe I can handle myself there then," Mara said as politely as she could. "I will be a specialist after all…"

A ruler went flying, smacking right before Mara's seat. Professor Lenore stood up, looming before Mara. "Don't be impudent. Have you any idea how to curtsey properly? Do you know what to do when a less than desirable gentleman offers you a seat? Do you even know how to properly address a student prince?"

Mara couldn't help but squirm, the figurative butterfly under the all too real pin of the teacher's eyes. The woman smiled coolly. "I thought not." She slowly circled Mara. "Make no mistake, Miss Frey, you will be a specialist. But you will also be a lady. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am." Who could say anything else when faced with that gaze?

* * *

Gareth was waiting for Mara; he had left earlier in the exodus of freshman boys and had been the one to shut the door after them. Mara was laden with books on etiquette and several data CDs with the strict order to read and summarize the information within them by the next week. Gareth moved to help her but the girl glared. 

"I'm fine," she said a little stiffly.

Gareth raised his hands. "Grouchy, aren't you?" He started walking by her. "How's your first day?"

"Interesting," Mara answered after a moment. Her anger was cooling; Gareth had nothing to do with this.

"Pink hair and etiquette lessons," Gareth said. "Of course it's interesting."

"Don't remind me," Mara groaned ruefully. "I just want dinner and a chance to read." She yawned.

"Don't forget your morning workout," Gareth said with a grin. "By the way, I'll start coming in the evening for you too, but not this week. You have enough on your plate."

Mara stared incredulously. "Are you trying to kill me?" she sputtered.

"Correction. The _school_ is trying to kill you," Gareth said smartly. "I'm trying to help you survive."

Mara closed her mouth. "All right then."

Gareth clapped her lightly on the back. "Come on then. You look like you can use a steak. The cafeteria ladies know how to cook up a good one."

Mara's stomach grumbled. Yes, steak sounded _very_ good.

* * *

Mara leaned back in her seat, taking a bit of a breather. The steak _had_ been good and now she was eyeing a slice of very tempting cake. 

Chocolate, her favorite, with glazed icing that was spread evenly on a stack of three layers that was the perfect brown-black. Dribbles of just heated chocolate syrup had been added, creating viscous drops that still were slowly falling down the edges to create beaded trails, not to mention bits of chopped dark chocolate studding the chocolate "lava" and a bright red cherry set with all the care of a master sculptor on delicate whorl of chocolate icing.

If this were an anime, there would be pink hearts in her eyes.

She carefully picked up a fork and let it slowly slice into the tip. The cake gave easily but did not crumble under the slice. Once she had the piece securely on her fork, she lifted it to her mouth. And nearly died right there.

Gareth saw her from bringing her a glass of milk. "Mara, something wrong? The cake isn't bad is it?"

She opened her eyes as the morsel finally slid down her throat. "I can die now," she proclaimed almost tearfully.

Gareth laughed a little awkwardly, setting the milk in front of her. "That crazy for chocolate, eh?"

"I am a chocolate fiend," Mara said, digging into the cake now at a quicker pace. She reached for the milk, taking a long sip.

"Just like my sisters. When they're on their cycles…" Gareth shook his head.

The cafeteria wasn't that full. Most of the guys didn't like eating here, finding it "cooler" to eat elsewhere or just scarf down their food to go off to rooms to play video games or train. Evidently it was a sentiment shared with Mara's new "friends."

Or not.

Mara jumped as a fork came out of nowhere and gouged a piece out of _her_ cake. She could only gape as the fork pulled away, only to disappear into Nathanial's mouth.

"Wow, the last 'Death by chocolate,'" he said, finishing chewing. "It _is_ good."

Nathanial spotted Gareth's rather nervous smile at this point. "What?"

The instructor silently pointed to the seat across from him. Nathanial slowly turned. To meet the eyes of a very pissed off Mara Frey.

Nathanial tried to smile winningly but only succeeded in looking like a little boy who had pulled on a tail, only to find out that it belonged to a dragon. "Sorry?" he said.

* * *

Mara staggered into her room and to the bathroom later that evening. Gareth had prodded her into doing homework at the library after the carnage in the cafeteria, which included summaries on various subjects each of her classes had assigned. He promised her computer would be available soon, even as she had to scribble out her essays on the lined paper she had fortunately had had the foresight to bring. 

She staggered to the bathroom and turned on the sink, yawning. Like a zombie, she brushed her teeth and washed her face before toddling back to her bed and changing into her pajamas

She was exhausted beyond all her resources, she swore. Every muscle now ached. She reached for a book, about to read but before she could even open it, she gave up. Turning off the one lamp that had turned on when she had gone inside, Mara reached for her enormous blue pillow, squeezing it tight, and fell into the fittest sleep she had ever had in her life.

* * *

Thank you for reading every one! And this is a last portion of an author's note that I would rather not put on the top else it scare away everyone… Warning, it's a rather angry message from a pissed off feminist and fairy tale lover. 

When I was watching Winx Club one morning, I got very irritated. Know why? Almost every situation, the girls don't get out themselves; they get help. Not even working together they can beat certain enemies. That irritates me to no end. In almost all other stories, stories that involve guys, you don't see _them_ getting into trouble and having to be scooped out by _girls_. No, it's the _girls_ who get rescued by the _guys_. Yes, I am a feminist. And if you have a problem with that… don't bother reading, unless my story is what matters, not my views.

/sighs/ Winx Club I detest for the characters, not the world. The world is simply amazing, the side characters intriguing, including the heads of the main magical schools within Magix. However… the show seems to take every opportunity to _undermine_ the female protagonists, which is technically not the point of an adventure story. The plot belittles them or overstretches their abilities. Like Bloom.

She seems smart enough, she studies and seems to do well enough. In battle… she sucks. Big time. I _know_ that she's facing against senior witches when she's barely a freshman, but it's ridiculous. And it's absolutely ridiculous that she suddenly gains ability and powers at the end to face Icy. It's character strength development all in one big burst. Not even in fairy tales this happens. And this is supposed to be a fairy tale (no pun intended).

I guess that's why I made Mara. She's hot-tempered, too mature for her own good sometimes, cynical, and new. She knows nothing about the world and is trying to take it all in stride, as well as she can, but knows that she's on a rough path. She knows when she has her limits but knows that she is the one person she can trust in and depend on. I suppose that's why I also don't mind Riven. As much of an asshole the guy is (along with the implausible change of heart in the last episodes, I mean, _Riven_, asking for forgiveness? Please.), he has a point in that depending on others isn't _always_ a good trait.

Mara _will_ encounter events that will force her to examine herself, especially her own magic and that side that is supposed to be a fairy (jokes on destiny will be rampant, I assure you, because Daphne's and Bloom's constant ranting about _DESTINY_ were enough to make me gag; they have no style, which is coming from a girl who insists on reading Japanese comics, which is _filled_ with destiny references). That does not mean she will be transferred (come _on_, it's about a girl going to Red Fountain. I'll be lynched if I dare to make Mara fail.) but it will mean that part of her internal struggle will be revealed. I may be a feminist but I do believe that masculinity and femininity are two different sides of a human soul and that Mara will have to grow, acknowledging that she is a warrior, but she is a woman. But not _merely_ a woman, _a_ woman, to steal a quote from a book I have recently read.

While it is hard to cram that kind of growth into a kids' show based on the kind of plot devices and material it would entail, that is what I believe Bloom's story should be about. It is not about her being weak and suddenly becoming strong. But rather, it _should_ be about her being strong and growing stronger, not insistent on a destiny, but growing on her own terms.


	5. Chapter 4: It's Magic

Hi people! Wow, Mara just keeps on getting more and more popular on the Net… That's amazing.

And of course, here are the Author's Notes (or the Mailbag):

Seraphina Starfire: Go _curves_! ;; Well, Winx Club is based on Italian fashions… and you know the Italians when it comes to fashion, be it couture or street… (no offense to any of Italian descent)

nukerjsr: Thanks for the enlightening review. Yes, the world is nice, a richly developed place, but the characters suck, for lack of a better word. As for the Etiquette… -shrugs- Well, they are there for heroics. Heroes have to have manners too. The professor is a nutcase. Complete nutcase. Once again with the anorexia remark. It seems the eating disorder theory has not died in this sector…

ArcherofDarkness and Callie: It's for little girls. There's good and there's evil. No sense in confusing the poor darlings with ambiguity. Just make things in black and white, which helps in their gradual perception of the world –sarcastically-. That's the nature of Americanized cartoons, unfortunately. Good and evil are total opposites and no gray exists in the world. Just the hero and the super evil villain. As for Mara meeting the fairies… -laughs- As much as I want her to kick fairy butt, she won't. She's just too nice. Well, she's just on the side of good, with a few rough edges. I just might have her have to deal with a couple of prima donnas with attitude problems, and of all things, she has to _rescue_ them.

Charada Bernie: ;; Alas, if only Winx Club could belong to me… I'd probably ruin it though, with all of my symbolism and ambiguity.

TamPhuoc: With all the "GURL" Power stuff going around, it's ironic that still girls are portrayed as those to be rescued, literally. It's ready for the princess to chop off her hair and climb out of her tower.

nicole: As one of my favorite characters say, "Pity is for those with no means of getting out of their situation." For a girls' show, it certainly emphasizes _lovely_ traits for girls…

By the way, everyone, just watch out this chapter. It has quite rude language at some point. Red Fountain boys can have potty mouths after all… -goes hunting with a bar of soap-

* * *

Chapter Four: It's Magic 

The next day wasn't much different. Only more difficult as Mara tried to get her sore legs to work in running her requisite five miles around the lake and forest as well as teach several of the other sophomores how to fall properly on the ground (no padding).

By the time Mara had gotten to her academic classes, she was covered in bruises on top of the sore muscles all over her body. It was a wonder she could still walk. She held onto each word of her teachers in each class, finding the information fascinating despite the fact that she was ready to fall asleep in the desk right there. It was all the better, not to mention safer, she knew, as she grimly watched Chaucer drop earthworms down the neck of a sleeping student's shirt as a horribly fascinated Survival class observed and grimaced.

Studying that evening was a complete nightmare but Gareth made sure she wouldn't fall asleep, not before doing her homework, which had doubled from the night before. The subjects were interesting still, but even the most zealous student would be dismayed from the homework load from each teacher to compound the information.

"They're trying to weed out everyone," he said as he got her a cup of coffee. "Mark my words, part of the class will be gone in a few days, before the weekend hits. Once that happens, the teacher's will ease up."

Mara desperately hoped so.

* * *

By Friday, everything had relatively calmed down and was now at a steady momentum, not too hard but certainly not too easy. Books had been found, schedules switched around, rooming arrangements adjusted to the desires of boarders. Mara was starting to feel a little more alive at this point, very sore, but still alive. Everyone seemed to be unwinding and lightening up at the first weekend of the school year; even the Survival instructor seemed to perk up (though Mara had to wonder if that was a good thing). 

Flyers and invitations were being passed around the student body, advertising clubs and establishing parties around the dorms for that momentous first weekend. The professors didn't seem to mind terribly, at most confiscating flyers and sighing in disgusted resignation (Especially in the case of the Tactics teachers). Mara didn't get any of those invitations, not that she particularly cared. All she wanted was some sleep this weekend, not that Gareth would grant her the luxury of sleeping in on a Saturday, knowing him.

As Mara was cleaning up after the bell had rung on Friday (Creatures class was particularly messy; they were chopping liver and intestines into fine pieces for the fussy dragons), Nathanial approached her while she was washing away blood and guts from her hands.

"Yes?" She looked up from scrubbing under her fingernails with strong scented soap and hot water.

The prince had been friendly of late, though not overly pushy surprisingly enough, after that little incident in introducing himself in her room. But there always was a little distance with him, a slight… barrier and lack of warmth that made their relationship not quite friendship and more like business than anything else. For all that he was more vocal and definitely more charismatic than Gareth, Mara was oddly off put by that barrage and arsenal of clever words and manners. Somehow, she always knew that Gareth was sincere, having no true hidden agenda. For all the beauty and dignity Gareth held, he was horrible at hiding his emotions, having a curious sense of scruples that refused to play games of intrigue and masks. She knew that Gareth wanted to help her, gave him her trust in aiding her through Red Fountain. She didn't know Nathanial's agenda just yet.

Not to mention Mara was swiftly disillusioned of any sort of pride at receiving his charming attentions, even if she was not already somewhat jaded to flattery. Nearly anything female within a hundred-yard radius was fair game to Nathanial and his sweet words. Mara knew _his_ type all too well.

All charm with no substance. Often _devastatingly_ handsome, unfortunately.

"Going anywhere this weekend?" he asked, pausing a slight distance away from her.

"Gareth's showing me around downtown Magix tomorrow. I need a PC." Mara turned off the water to dry off her hands.

"There's a party going on tomorrow night in one of the empty dorm rooms. If you want to come… Gareth's going to be there too."

She blinked in surprise. "Instructors go to this parties?"

Nathanial grinned. "Takes care of the 'guardians always on the lookout' problem. The younger ones are okay with these things. They let a couple of things slide as long as we don't get too rowdy."

"Well…" It wasn't as though she had anything else to do… And she liked a good party as much as the next person. "Fine. I'll come with Gareth then."

"It's a mostly Freshie party," Nathanial mentioned. "Though Bishop and W will be there and some of their friends."

"Anything I need to bring to this gathering?"

Nathanial shook his head, causing the feathers on his ponytail to sway, trying to cling to his shirt. "Don't worry. We get free stuff, like food and most of the drinks, from the cafeteria and other things other people are taking care of. Though… I guess you can bring some music, if you're interested in bringing anything. I've always wanted to hear Earth music. Must be interesting"

Mara picked up her backpack, carrying it for the moment. "It's not that different from music here, to be honest. Gareth's given me a heads up on Magix music. Earth has rap and rock and jazz, just like here. If I had to admit at least one major difference, it's in technology. I hate to admit it, but Earth's got nothing on you guys here."

"It's magic, what do you expect?" Nathanial grinned at her, opening his arms expansively and acting the melodramatic fop Mara knew too well he could be. The charm was infectious this time, the warmth somehow more genuine this time, softening the boy's façade and making him seem more… human, somehow, and Mara found herself grinning back.

* * *

"I can't wait until I get this out," Mara said, tugging on her hair as she looked out the window of the car. 

Gareth laughed, going another hairpin turn and making his passenger white, then green, then ashen. "You loathe pink that much?"

"I hate it with a passion usually reserved for Hell."

"May I ask why?"

Mara grew thoughtful at that point. "Now that I think about it… I really don't know."

"Irrational hatred, lovely character trait." Gareth turned up the music in his car, the base now throbbing through the air.

Mara glanced at him. "Do you mind?" she had to shout. "Some of us don't want to be deaf before the age of forty!"

"You and what army, kid?" Gareth shouted back with a smirk, but relented and turned the music down to a dull roar.

Mara leaned back slightly, pondering as she let a hand run through her cropped hair, still colored in a lurid shade of her most detested color. "I think it's because… I dislike girly things."

"You are a girl," Gareth commented quite drolly.

"Really? Guys can have lumps on their chests too," Mara said, pointing at her own, covered with a loose black t-shirt with a flaking decal of a red butterfly on it.

Gareth snorted but Mara knew by now that he was snickering. "Get on with it, Frey, before I write you up for insolence." Probably in revenge, he swerved on the road, barely missing a tree and successfully turning Mara white as a sheet.

"It's the truth. I don't like girly things."

"You're joking."

"I never joke about my femininity, or lack there of."

"And what was that you just said earlier? Chopped liver?" Gareth delighted now in taking the most twisting, dangerous road through the forest to Magix.

"No, it's compost."

"You digress, Frey."

"Sorry sir. But you know insubordination can be my middle name."

"Mara Insubordination Frey. It has a nice ring to it."

"Dear God, I've created a monster."

"Ah, but how do you know I wasn't _already_ a monster, eh?" Gareth looked at her from the corner of his eyes. Mara couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not at the moment. He could be either, considering he could be as tricky as Nathanial if he so chose.

"We're all monsters," Mara said, deadpan.

"By the Dragon _I've_ created a monster." Gareth swerved again, sending talismans dangling from his rearview mirror in a frenzied dance, the metal and crystal sigils chiming against each other in discordant notes.

"You know, some guys prefer to have fuzzy dice on their mirrors," Mara commented, watching the talismans tangle each other into a mess of charms and leather cord. "It's a little simpler."

"Fuzzy dice? You Earthlings are too strange. You have no taste."

"Excuse me? This is coming from an instructor of a school that makes its students wear _bodysuits_ with _capes_ and high-heeled _boots_ during practice? Forgive me if I snigger."

"I had nothing to do with it. It's tradition." The smugness radiating off Gareth was thick enough to be bottled and used as cologne.

"I wasn't talking about _you_, now was I?"

Silence.

"You still need to tell me why you hate pink so much."

Groan.

* * *

Downtown Magix didn't seem that different from most of the cities Mara had had the pleasure of visiting. Other than the fact that people had ludicrous colored hair and the cars floated, Mara could almost believe that she was back on Earth. Gareth parked the car and they both stepped out. 

"Hair or computer first?" Gareth asked, eyeing her.

"Hair, good lord, please," Mara said promptly.

"Here's the place then." Gareth gestured to the store they had stopped in front of, a rather imposing white, chrome, and glass building apparently called "Hair Pieces, Mm. Ruri." The display in the front window consisted of a female mannequin combing her hair robotically in front of a pink and ivory vanity. Interestingly enough, the hair changed color and style every few seconds, going from gold ringlets to black spikes to red pageboy bob.

"Any way I can get it done here?" Mara asked, tugging at her hair out of habit.

"Probably. I know the owner so I might be able to pull in a few favors. But… you can just live with it for a while, you know."

"Not on your life." Mara checked her pocket for her wallet. Hopefully this wasn't going to eat into her cash supply… She sighed, grimacing at her magenta and black hair. But she was damn well determined to get rid of this mess on her head.

"Suit yourself." Gareth walked inside, the glass doors immediately sliding open at his approach as Mara followed after him, into the long, single room of the store that was all to reminiscent of the beauty parlors of Earth, down to black and white tiles on the floor.

Gareth, in a sudden flashback to first day orientation, was pounced on almost immediately by what looked like two shrieking pink and gold blurs. "Gary!" He went down with an undignified yell and Mara prudently stepped out of the way.

Identical twin girls were snuggling next to the young man, giggling and cooing, both in identical pink and white uniforms and long gold hair. They had the look of utterly besotted cats, even as they petted and hugged Gareth right there on the floor. Mara scowled, noting that the uniforms were rather brief maid's uniforms with puffed sleeves and ruffled aprons.

"Gary, you don't come here anymore, you bad boy!"

"We missed you!"

Gareth managed to sit up, pushing both girls off. His face was smudged with pink lip marks and his hair was straggling out of its ponytail. He went to his pockets for a handkerchief and started rubbing at his face.

"I told you, my mother had me working at the house," he said patiently though with a slight tone of exasperation coloring the phrase. "It's not as though I had a choice, girls." The girls pouted prettily and identically at that, raising a clamor.

Gareth finally looked behind him as he stood up, probably noting the black vibes coming from right behind him. "Ah… sorry about that."

"Do explain… _Gary_," Mara said pleasantly though with acidic undertones.

"Ah… This is Ruby and this is Holly," Gareth said, gesturing to the twins. "They work here, as part of the café and personal assistants." The two beamed at him and gave Mara long looks that reminded her of the evil Siamese cats in an old Disney film she once saw. She gave them her evil eye right back.

"Miss Ruri isn't here today though," the one Gareth pointed out as Ruby and who, as Mara realized, had a red rose brooch at her throat. "We're running the shop today."

"Though you can help us, Gary, like you used to," Holly said cutely, Mara noting that the brooch on hers was white.

"Sorry ladies, I have other business. This is my student from Red Fountain, Mara Frey. Frey has some business with Miss Ruri though I suppose you can help?"

"What is it? Full Fairy Frost Facial?" Ruby asked and she and her twin exploded into a flurry of high-pitched giggles.

Mara gritted her teeth, about to give them the one finger salute but restraining herself. She opened her mouth about to retort but Gareth darted in for her.

"Black fairy dye, if you please, girls. Enchantment breaking intensity, and get a chair ready. I can take care of this myself since I am going to help you out." He smiled charmingly at them and what outrage that started to blossom on their faces faded as they darted away.

"You used to be a hair dresser?" Mara asked disbelievingly.

"I needed the part time job," Gareth said lightly. "Miss Ruri is also a very renowned fencer."

"But not specialist?"

Gareth took Mara's elbow, guiding her to one of the chairs attached to the sinks. "She wasn't trained at Red Fountain. There are female warriors, just not necessarily from Red Fountain and most military establishments. Don't mess with Miss Ruri; she can kick most guys' asses in half a second."

The girls bounced back out, bearing towels and a curious glass bottle. "Here you go Gary!"

Mara looked at Gareth as she settled in the reclining chair. "I'm trusting you with this, I hope you realize."

He patted her shoulder. "Don't worry about it." He accepted the bottle and the towels and shooed the girls away as he turned on the water.

Mara flinched at the first contact of cool water on her scalp and relaxed as it grew armor. Gareth had very nice hands as he cleaned her hair, being very gentle about it as well. She was almost lulled to sleep until he turned off the water. A pungent odor wafted to Mara's nose and she sneezed.

"Ugh! I guess even here they don't know how to make dye smell nice."

Gareth laughed. "Take it easy." He then bent over and Mara felt something cold trickling on her hair. It felt… sticky somehow, despite her damp tangles of hair left in the sink, like jelly and honey mixed together, oozing over her hair. She heard the sound of glass hitting wood and then felt something smoothing the ooze over her hair.

"Is it working?" She had to ask that.

Gareth continued to smooth the liquid onto her hair. "It's too early. We haven't found a way yet to make it instantaneous, you know."

Mara waited as Gareth started cleaning up. She tapped her foot impatiently. "Well?"

"Hold your horses, Frey. Patience is a virtue."

"Whoever said that was probably shot," Mara retorted.

She then nearly yelped as ice cold water stung her scalp. "Oops, it seems like I forgot to shift the water," Gareth said sweetly. "It's better if it's cold anyways."

Mara growled, suffering silently as he rinsed her hair, cleaning the ooze off. "_Well_?"

Gareth didn't speak for a while but when he did, he seemed a little apprehensive. "It looks like the dye didn't work. This one must be completely magically resistant. To get a spell that breaks this will not be cheap and this dye isn't already cheap enough…"

"What!"

* * *

Mara was fuming by the time she got out of the beauty salon, her hair still pink, and bright as ever, much to her immense irritation. She was now forty dollars lighter for nothing. Gareth promised that the dye would come out eventually, though it would be hard to say. It all depended on the spell and how fast Mara's hair grew because this stuff could last anywhere from two months to two years. 

Mara sincerely hoped it was not the latter extreme.

"Look, Grumpy, you can continue to fume about it, but nothing short of an act of god is going to remove the dye by glaring at it. You can keep on grumbling or you can let me help you drown your sorrows in ice cream and a new PC for you," Gareth said, all too patiently.

Mara considered it. "Your treat?"

"You bet."

"For _all_ of it?"

"Forget it, Frey."

It was a little while later they emerged from a local ice cream parlor with enormous waffle cones filled with chocolate and strawberry ice cream piled high with thickened whipped cream and chopped nuts, not to mention topped with enormous chocolate covered strawberries. Mara was starting to feel her spirits rise already as she dug in enthusiastically, following after Gareth while enjoying the calorie-infested mountain of indulgence.

"Here we go," Gareth said, gracefully biting into a strawberry (how was that even possible?) and pointing to an alley. "Come on."

He was toting a small bag filled with two ice cream pint cups and a few spoons, though he refused to let Mara see what flavors he had bought from the parlor. Mara stuck close to him, already feeling a little uneasy as she ate. The alley was surprisingly clean but Mara could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise, prickling her as she could feel some sort of energy close by, energy that was not necessarily benevolent. She had to trust Gareth though. It was not likely he was leading her anywhere dangerous… was he?

The end of the alleyway had a small door, rather dingy and illuminated by a single, battered light bulb. Gareth went up to the door, which had once been dark blue but now looked more like a sulky gray, and tapped on it a few times. He muttered something under his breath and the door slowly creaked open.

"Come in already," a voice rasped and Gareth slipped in, with Mara not too far behind.

Once the door had been shut, Mara had to blink a little to adjust to the dim light. She then let out a low whistle of astonishment. The room was lit by both red silk and gold lanterns emitting soft, steady light, gently dancing in a hidden wind with tassels dangling from them, and the faintly phosphorous glow of many computer screens scattered about the room. Monitors and hard drives jostled on multiple tables but for the most part seemed to be part of the walls and ground, sprouting out in organic shapes.

The person who had let them in was a young man. Or Mara thought he was. His hair had a curious pied look, divided in a very straight part down the middle of his head, the right side jet black, the left side snow white, long enough to reach his waist and straight as a pin. He had the funny waxen look of a person who had not seen sun for a while and had not slept for quite a bit, his curiously pale gray eyes sunken in their sockets. For all that he was probably a typical computer nerd, he wasn't dressed in their uniform of t-shirt with bare feet. On the contrary, he was very elegantly clad in a simple version of an Edwardian smoking jacket, clinging to him like a red and black velvet second skin, and what could probably be called black jeans, and soft black leather slippers.

"Hey Domino. I got you something." Gareth held out the bag. "And I have a customer for you."

Domino glared at Mara for a long moment. "I can see that, Gareth." He took the bag and opened it, only to smile faintly. "You shouldn't have, Gareth." He pulled out both pints of ice cream, setting one down on a nearby table and prying the other one open. He dug in enthusiastically, eating what looked like rocky road studded with enormous walnut and pecan pieces.

"No hacking, Gareth," he said, eyeing them both suspiciously now, even as he continued to devour the ice cream in record speed (without a mess, Mara noted, somewhat bemusedly).

"Nah, Domino. I can hack on my own. I know you're too busy with your accounts. I just need a PC for her." Gareth jerked his thumb at Mara. Mara glared at him.

Domino gave Mara a look, as if now realizing again that she existed. "Any specifics?"

"General model. Storage capabilities, communication chip, user modes. You have a new personality chip yet, Domino? Or is that still in the works?"

"As if I would sell that to you, not for all the cash you can offer, Gareth," Domino sneered.

"Please Domino?" Gareth wheedled. "What if I'm really _nice_?" He made his eyes big and vulnerable.

Domino actually looked tempted for a moment but gathered his resolve quickly enough, glaring. "No! You deal with what you got, Gareth. I don't give a damn if Leilani is a bubblehead. You chose her."

"I didn't know she was!" Gareth protested. "Please, Domino, let me switch her."

"She's in your system. You're not getting her out without resetting and deleting _all_ of your files." Domino smiled maliciously at Gareth. "I can do that for you if you'd like."

"No! Er… that's all right, Domino. Well then, can we get our friend here a PC?"

Domino looked to Mara. "Earth girl, right?" he asked somewhat gruffly.

"What? Oh, yeah." Mara crunched on a piece of waffle cone. "Wait… how did you know?"

"Energy signature," Domino said with a noncommittal shrug. Gareth made a face and mouthed, "He's lying." Domino gave him a piercing look and the other male turned away, whistling innocently and pretending to be absorbed in his ice cream. He went over to Mara, peering at her. "I think I have something for you."

"Er… how much will it be? I don't have that much. Gareth just insisted…"

The curious male waved dismissively with his spoon. "I take what you can afford; that's the business of the Keymaker, after all."

"Keymaker?"

"Kind of like that movie from your world. The Matrix, right? Fascinating concepts. Though that Chosen One has the personality of a garbanzo bean. Eyebrow guy isn't far behind." Domino took another bite of ice cream, biting particularly viciously on a chunk of marshmallow-covered pecan. "I make keys, but not in the typical sense. A key is merely a tool and an aid. It is not necessarily an answer or a solution. I aid people that way. Wizardry is very technical; I just translate that literally." He gestured grandly behind him.

Mara could now sense the energy. It wasn't malevolent any more, but it was far from benevolent. It was slightly threatening, being so cold and clinical that she cringed to be near it, but it was quite stable and very well established. Domino was infused with that energy, something Mara was now starting to see as faint cracklings of silver and pale yellow-green lightning. It formed webs around the room, crackling into existence every so often, but all spinning from Domino or entangling the Keymaker in intersections from computer to computer. She blinked a little, slightly bewildered.

Domino smiled knowingly and winked rather kindly at her. He turned away. "Anyways, I think I have something for you. It's excellent for first timers and it grows on you, so you don't have to worry about upgrading. If you do, you'll know and then you can take it to me or others and we'll take care of it."

After putting down the now empty container of ice cream and his spoon, he actually reached into one of the monitors protruding from the wall, the glass screen rippling as his hand reached into it, and pulled something out. Mara stared at him, positively speechless at the surreal sight of his hand simply dipping into the screen. The object was similar to Gareth's PC but a little smaller, and narrower, colored sapphire blue with chrome accents. Domino put it on a small ledge, and with a small flash of light, a silver dragon was embossed on the cover. He picked it up and handed it to Mara.

"Here you go. It's a top of the line, recently upgraded PC, Draco Coronis 6.6. It can store your notes and your diary and acts as radio, cell phone, messenger, and direct communication. You can even get a few channels on it, though don't depend on it." He flipped it open for her, revealing a screen outlined in white, currently blank, and a fully functional miniature keyboard ready for her use. "The keyboard also enlarges for your convenience and it comes with headphones, to make your calls more discreet. It has a projector so you can see larger pictures and not just depend on that small screen, and it can shrink if you want to store it in a purse or a pocket. I've gotten it to about three inches and big around enough to fit into an eyeglass case. Don't bother asking about the physics because it's magic." He winked at her again.

Mara gingerly took it, examining it. She then jumped as the screen blinked to life without warning. A fairly androgynous young man with platinum blonde hair tied in a ponytail wearing a blue and black costume that had the look of a kimono bowed to her politely, smiling a little shyly. Mara was tickled to see that when he moved, he revealed that he had little black angel wings attached to his back.

"Greetings, my lady, you can call me Crono," he said, voice shockingly feminine, but melodious. Mara peered closer and saw that his eyes were violet.

"Err… Hi Crono." Mara waved a little, feeling slightly stupid. He only smiled shyly at her, not seeming to take any sort of offense.

"Draco Coronis also comes with a personality chip already installed as your office assistant. He will connect you to the Witch Wide Web and other realms as well as organize and search for you. Be pleased; I just perfected him this morning. Perhaps it was destiny."

"Spare me," Mara said, though she couldn't be too mad at Domino. Who would be, after receiving something as cool as this?

"He will work on Earth as well but please bear with him for the next few weeks. He is still part prototype and he will need to get to know you as his user," Domino said.

Gareth looked at the Keymaker. "And what's this about not letting me have one?" he asked ironically.

"Leilani is your PC sprite, deal with it. You can adjust her programming but I can't promise any certain results. You may just lose some files," Domino answered blandly. He looked to Mara. "As for payment…"

Mara winced. She put down her new toy and reached into her pocket. "How much?"

Domino looked at her neck, where she was wearing a sterling silver pendant of a pentacle etched with all twelve symbols of the zodiac surrounding a red glass stone, which had cracked down the middle, giving it the look of an eye with a slit pupil. "Your necklace will do. And if you can come by tomorrow or next week with a quart of Strawberry Fusion from the local ice cream parlor and a box of Lavender Dragon tea as well as your PC, that will be considered full payment."

Mara stared. "What? You've got to be kidding me."

"Miss Frey, I never 'kid' about my business," Domino said blandly. His long hair shimmered in the red glow of the lanterns and Mara shivered as a strange breeze rippled through the air.

"Fine. You can have it. Gareth, hold this." She gave him her ice cream without hearing his answer and reached up to undo the necklace. It was a nice piece of jewelry, but she wouldn't miss it _terribly_. It wasn't as though she couldn't get another one when she went to Earth.

Domino opened his hand for it. "And if you could kiss it goodbye?"

Mara gave him a strange look but did so, brushing her lips against the cracked glass stone of the pendant and dropping it into Domino's pale, soft palm, the chain slithering to pool in his hand. She could feel something… stretch, like she had just taken a ribbon of herself and handed it to Domino, only to have the ribbon start flexing and grow thinner. It then "snapped," coiling within herself again. She blinked. The sensation was not painful, just strange. But when she looked closely when the lightnings reappeared again, she realized that a thin streak of dark blue mingled with silver and gray was coiling about the white and pale yellow energy within Domino, wrapping about the spindly strands like ribbon about wire.

"I'll see you next week then," Mara said, feeling a little drained suddenly.

"I have a feeling I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Miss Frey," Domino said with a slow, cat like smile. "Have a good day. And watch your drinks, if you please."

* * *

Mara shivered as they exited the alley. "Who exactly is he?" she asked, finishing her ice cream. 

"Well… I don't know. He seems to be of Miss Ruri's ilk. Not quite human or fairy, that one. Not even fairies or witches have that type of hair." Gareth looked at her curiously. "And he seems to have taken a liking to you. That's funny. He's a bit of a misogynist."

"Joyful. Is he a sociopath by any chance?"

"Damn straight. He locks himself in there with his machines. Of course he's a philanthropist."

"Funny, Gareth." She looked at her pocket, where Cronos was patiently staying. "Did you notice… lightning in there?"

Gareth looked at her. "Lightning?"

"Yeah. Sparks, all around him and… in him."

Gareth shook his head. "I saw nothing. Why?"

"Never mind. I think I was just hallucinating in there. It must have been the glare of all those computer screen." Mara tried to smile easily but not even she could believe in that lie.

Gareth gave her a long look but dropped the subject. "I'll take you here again then, until you earn your license to get to town on your own. I almost dread it."

"Oh?"

"It's been a while since I've had a chick in my car. Of course… you're not necessarily on my A list… or my B list…" Gareth then had to dodge a dripping missile of a nearly finished ice cream cone as he laughed his head off at her.

* * *

Mara adjusted her hold on her CD book. Music was already pounding through the walls in the dorm room. Gareth was with her, having changed from his pale t-shirt and jeans to a silky black shirt and darker jeans, not to mention boots. His hair was let loose for the moment, hanging about his Greek god face in loose curls. 

Mara, in comparison, was not nearly as elegant or relaxed. She had brushed her hair, true, letting the black and pink gleam, but only could let it frame her face in slightly frizzy strands reaching her chin. She too had changed from casual clothing to something a little more stylish, choosing bondage pants hanging with zippers and pockets everywhere, cloth straps clipped on each side and a black t-shirt, but could not be the fashion plate Gareth always seemed to be.

"Relax, will you?" Gareth told her. "You're not going to death row, you know."

"Easy for you to say."

"It's just an informal gathering, you know." He reached up and ruffled her hair playfully. "Here." He snapped his fingers just by his ear and produced a blood red rose out of thin air, showing it to her.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Trying to make me feminine, now?"

"Nah. I just like flowers, and roses suit you." He looked at the rose for a moment and watched as the color turned purplish, matching the magenta of Mara's hair. "There, it matches." Impudently, he stuck it behind her ear.

"Nice." She raised her hand to touch at its velvety petals.

Gareth only grinned at her as they reached the point where the music was the loudest. Mara could swear the bass was reverberating through her, hard rock discordant in the air in notes of brassy steel and clamorous harmonies. And she thought she could hear strains of slightly off key singing.

"They have a band?" she asked as Gareth tapped on the door.

"Karaoke," Gareth said with a straight face.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

Of all coincidences, Nathanial opened the door for them. He was utterly comfortable in a close fitting blue-gray shirt and acid-washed jeans, looking like he stepped out of a teen fashion plate, down to the impeccable look of his close-cropped white hair. "Password?" he asked teasingly, holding a plastic cup in one hand.

"Let us in before I kick you out of the way," Mara shouted slightly over the music.

"Granted." Nathanial bowed to them grandly, stepping out of the way.

The dorm room had been one of the nicer ones, apparently, because it had an enormous common room with couches and quite a few computer and video consoles. The boys hadn't bothered with decoration except for lugging in amps and a makeshift stage of sheets of ply board bolted together and painted black. Males were lingering around, making small talk or duking it out on the video games. Mara thought she saw some playing an advanced version of DDR, incorporating flips, rolls, and quite frankly, astonishing moves in what looked like a choreographed dance.

"Is that- Chaucer?" Mara said aloud, squinting.

Indeed, it was the saturnine Survival instructor, who was moodily glaring at everyone from a corner near the punch bowl. His pale, nearly colorless eyes flickered as they saw her before turning away to glare at some guys going to get some chips. He had deigned to change from his usual costume of simple black clothing with gauntlets, combat boots, and knee bracers, to something a little more casual, though no less severe.

"He insisted on it, the stubborn goat," Gareth said with a shrug. "Even if he is a paranoid twit. See, he's checking the punch every so often."

"It's already spiked, Gareth," Nathanial said easily. "Though not with what Chaucer expects."

Mara gave Nathanial a long look. "Alcohol already?"

"Just fairy spirits," Nathanial said. "Nothing worse than a little extra sugar. The harder stuff comes later. We'll probably chase Chaucer out by then."

"Master Valeron, it will take more than a lot of you arrogant puppies to get me out," came a cool, raspy voice right behind Nathanial, cutting through the heavy drum solo (the music had long since changed).

Nathanial turned to find Chaucer looking down at him, scowling fiercely enough to make a hawk envious. The professor, with hair already white as snow (despite his probable age lingering from 18 to 26) and deep lines etched on a pale, drawn face, looked like some strange god out of old tales, a god of wrath and vengeance. The fact that he was wearing stark black didn't help at all.

"Of course, sir," Nathanial said glibly. "I'm sure to count on your constant vigilance to protect us from the 'vices of the world' in this safe haven."

"If you refer to the three F's of a fighter," Chaucer said dryly. "Fighting, food, and fornication, I'm afraid there's not much I can do to stop you lads."

"You forgot a fourth," Nathanial said.

"And that is…?"

"Freedom," Nathanial said promptly.

"To do what?"

"Do all of the above three, not to mention drinking." Nathanial beamed.

Chaucer gave him a long look, like an elder but shrewder hawk watching the prancing of a young tiercel. Then he flicked Nathanial between the eyes sharply. "That tongue of yours will get you in trouble. Don't make me cut it out for you to remind you of what people can do to it. I'm off. Gareth, make sure they don't drink themselves silly." Nodding to Mara rather politely, Chaucer walked off, not bothering to disguise the very slight limp in his left leg.

"Queer man, that one," Nathanial said, rubbing at his skull where Chaucer had not too kindly struck him.

"Madness comes with reason," Gareth said delicately.

Nathanial opened his mouth, likely about to inquire, when Mara hastily butted in. "Who's the DJ?" she asked Nathanial. "Or is there just a band?"

"Bishop and W are taking turns," Nathanial said, gesturing behind him where Mara could now see Bishop, in full rocker regalia, with a laptop balanced on his long legs, typing furiously. "Incidentally, karaoke does connect. We haven't had any good singers up though. This batch of freshman doesn't seem to have any musical talent."

"Way to go on your class," Mara said dryly.

Nathanial flashed her a brilliant smile. "With the exception of this _lovely_ lady, of course."

Mara rolled her eyes heavenward and smacked him lightly on the back of the head. Prince or no prince, he was still a male to her. "Keep your brain in your skull, lest it pour out of your ears." She then padded over to Bishop, who looked up at her approach.

"Yes?" he asked coolly, and Mara noted that the music had turned down slightly in the space around him, as though some invisible insulation was muffling it.

"Mind putting on some earth songs?" She held out her CD book.

He looked at it as though it were a new species of spider or snake that he was not quite sure about. "Dance mixes?" he asked gruffly.

"Some. Mostly techno though, but there are some ballads."

Bishop nodded lightly. "Let's see then." He tapped at his computer. Mara realized that he had been playing solitaire. And winning for a quite some time.

"I'm not one for dance so I have no use for it. These idiots didn't give me CDs and expect me to put on music for when they sneak in some fairy chicks," he said in a slightly irritated tone, closing the card game and bringing up what looked like a music program.

"What?"

Bishop looked at her. "Most of us are male and sixteen," he said dryly. "Not to mention some of them haven't seen a girl in ages. Alfea is just down the road from here."

"Oh." Mara felt her face flush unconsciously. It wasn't as though she hadn't been to mixed parties before, or even parties where… things of not quite platonic nature happened. But to have it happen _here_ in this dignified boarding academy… it seemed to pervert the still living image of that purity within fairy tales she still had in Red Fountain. Ah, that idea went down the drain quickly enough.

Bishop snorted. "Don't worry. No boys are going to try to get in _your_ pants. Even if he could get into _those_." He eyed Mara's bondage pants. "By the way, where did you get those?"

"An Earth store. Like them?"

Bishop shrugged. "Well enough," he said gruffly. "Mind if I take a picture? My sister is studying design. She always likes new ideas."

"Sure. Just the pants?"

"Why not. But she may like the hair too."

"Tell her it was a bloody accident," Mara said, turning crimson again, though this time with rage. She stood up for him. Bishop fished something that looked like a tiny remote control and pointed it at her. He stared intensely for a minute and put the controller away.

"Done." With that he returned to his solitaire.

Mara rose and padded over to Gareth, who seemed to be a little distant from the activities but was talking amiably enough with Andrei, who had shown up in (of all things) a soft (fluffy?) white sweater with white jeans, his blue hair in a little braid at the base of his skull, tied with white ribbon trimmed with the smallest bit of lace (lace?).

"Mara! Good to see you," Andrei chirped, waving. He was bouncier than usual today, probably due to the cup of punch in his hands.

"Take it easy with the punch, please, Professor Andrei," Mara said, though she couldn't help but smile. Andrei was… special and it amused her to no end.

"Just call me Andrei, Mara dear," Andrei said airily. "You call Gareth by his name, why not me?"

Mara opened her mouth to say something slightly scathing, but Gareth butted in for her, "She just likes to be polite."

"It's the Lenore witch, she's gotten to you," Andrei said dramatically. "Didn't I warn you not to spend a lot of time with her? Now she has you in her clutches!"

Gareth rolled his eyes. "Very funny. I would thank you not to call the Madame, who is both your and my cousin several times removed, not to mention her mother was your father's aunt, Andrei."

"You're the only one who bothers to read the histories, Gary. You're a walking library."

Gareth snorted. "Thank you for that assessment."

Bored at this point, Mara wandered to the refreshments. She was feeling a little peckish, though dinner had been served as usual. At the table, however, was the darkly angelic boy she had met on her first day of orientation, who sipping at the punch for the moment, a look of extreme distaste on his handsome face.

"Not one for spiking the punch?" she asked him a little dryly for conversation's sake, ladling some of the bright blue liquid into an available cup and carefully sipping it. She nearly gagged. It was practically syrup and sugary enough to make her teeth rot right there.

The boy looked at her like she was an insect in his path. "I don't know who invited you here," he said stiffly. "But I would ask you to get out. This party is for _students_ of Red Fountain."

Mara only arched an eyebrow at him as she hunted for some water to dilute the mess that Nathanial dared call punch. "Last I checked, I am a student, albeit on probation…" She trailed off, looking at him.

He sneered at her. "You're nothing more than a groupie. Earth is a dumping ground for those weaklings without magic, all the pathetic _humans_."

"Last I checked, you were human too, Gabriel," Nathanial said mildly, coming up with a pitcher of water and what looked like wine bottles. "Even if your mother is a fairy."

"Nathanial… my loud mouthed friend," Gabriel said with a smirk. "Pleasure to see you again. I trust your sisters are doing well?"

"Last I checked, Chrysolite doesn't care to cheat on her to be husband, even if he isn't to her taste all the time," Nathanial said casually. "Unlike some who don't uphold the bargain."

"Come now, Nathanial, it is only a _civil_ arrangement. I am not even old enough to marry her. It is in name only."

"Ah, but bad habits develop early, my friend," Nathanial said, pouring the contents of the pitcher into the punch bowl and stirring. He pulled out a vial of red potion and poured a few drops into the blue punch, turning it pale, translucent green. "Mind you, Chrys is a stubborn girl, not to mention smart. If she doesn't want to go through with things, she will find a way to annul everything, even if she has to work to the day she goes down the aisle. I don't pity you." He paused, still stirring before ladling an experimental cup.

"Gabriel, is it? Pleasure to meet you," Mara said, offering a hand.

Gabriel looked at her hand as if it held the plague. "The pleasure would be in your departure, not the meeting," he said harshly, angelic face twisting. He pulled out a hilt from his pocket. "Now, you leave, unless I have to escort you."

"I wouldn't show her that, old buddy," Nathanial said, putting more drops of the red potion into the punch bowl as well as pieces of fruit from a nearby plate and dodging a puff of smoke and a watery explosion that followed. He coughed, brushing green spots off his shirt. "Family heirloom or not, the teachers will confiscate, and if you won't behave, destroy your weapons." He looked at the punchbowl, which had purple colored fog coming off it, and carefully ladled himself some of the new mixture.

Gabriel snarled. "I should have known you invited her, you bastard. What business was it of yours to invite… this bitch?"

Mara immediately raised her fists. "If you have a problem, tell me," she said coldly. "Instead of putting it on Nathanial."

Nathanial looked up from the punch very slowly, the purple cloud about him. His gray eyes were suddenly very cold. "Last I checked, Gabriel," he said very softly. "I organized this party as its main host. The guest list was at my disposal. I invite whom I wish and as host, I will ensure there are no problems. Frey didn't do anything to warrant your hostility except exist and I doubt that is any of her doing. If you have a problem with the guest list, I advise you not come in the future, Gabriel."

Gabriel snarled again and whirled, stalking out of the room in a manner that was more melodramatic than furious.

Mara looked at Nathanial, suddenly very impressed. "My, you know how to turn on the drama."

The prince smirked at her. "It's magic." Then the punchbowl exploded spectacularly in a burst of lime green and violet fountains.

"And that's magic too," Mara said as Nathanial dodged back, cursing to blister the air, his shirt doused in bright green spots.

* * *

Andrei makes his appearance again! Not to mention the jerk from the first chapter. But Gabriel (now dubbed) won't be content to leave, oh not at all. And Chaucer is established. Paranoid creep, isn't he? But I love him already, as well as the newly introduced Domino, with his freaky hair and eyes. Holly and Ruby are a whole 'nother ball game on the other hand… 

By the way, how many of you would be interested in a fiction contest on Winx Club? Let me know through your reviews. A tentative prize is a cameo (of you or your character(s)) within "Under Shadowed Wings"!

'til next time! –salutes-


	6. Chapter 5: Castles of Sand

Mail bag time, everyone!

**_nukerjsr_**: Once again, a compliment from you. I think I'm learning to thrive on them. Hopefully Under Shadowed Wings can only grow in the future and continue to bring pleasure to Winx Club fanfic readers and writers. Information about the contest is below!

**_Story Weaver1_**: I had too much fun with Domino. He's too cute, isn't he? Gabriel has his demons, so don't be so uncharitable, but he's still a jerk, so you're entitled to that less than kind opinion of him.

**_Demonafrit_**: You're too clever, my friend. –winks- Yes, there is connection between Gareth and Mara but there is also connection between Nathanial and Mara. But there's the fact that she's in denial, as well as the fact that Gareth won't risk losing his job over doing something that is illegal and against school policy (statutory). She's the little sister he never really had (he's the youngest and the only boy in his family). Nathanial and Mara? Not in this story arc. As strange as Nathanial may seem, he's not a bad kid, just too dramatic for his own good (but for good reason). But there is a strange bond between the two, ever since they first saw each other, good eye! As for Nathanial and Gabriel, you will recall in an earlier chapter that Nathanial has two older sisters (one named Chrysolite) and he is a prince. He and Gabriel must get along for diplomatic purposes but that doesn't mean they have to like it, especially because Nathanial loathes the thought of Gabriel being his future brother-in-law (connected through his older sister) and having the said older sister married off to the guy in general. Definite tension there, so don't put it past Nathanial to piss off Gabriel in little ways like that.

**_devylzangyl, Mallaidh_**: Thanks for the reviews. Mara is getting so much love!

**_max_**: Since I have no idea what Danny Phantom is, I doubt I will be doing a crossover.

* * *

Chapter Five: Castles of Sand

* * *

Mara woke up with a throbbing head and a dry mouth, tucked neatly under her blankets (which she had amazingly not kicked off). After the initial explosion in the punch bowl, the resulting punch, rainbow colored with multi-colored bubbles, had been delicious, impossible to describe, just an amazing sensation of both taste and carbonation. All the boys had run over to get a cup and Nathanial had been pestered about what exactly he had put in it. He had only smiled sheepishly, still in his ruined shirt, though Mara had a suspicion he was doing calculations and would eventually bring out the explosion again when possible.

After her second cup of Popularus Paradise (as it had been unanimously dubbed by the party), Mara had gone to sleep. Or something. All she knew that it was a blur at this point.

She padded to the bathroom and checked herself in the mirror. No hickeys… good. No tattoos or new piercings… check. No bruises or cuts… done. So she hadn't done anything _too_ stupid while getting piss-drunk. She stifled a groan at her own stupidity.

'_I am going to_ kill_ Nathanial the next chance I get,'_ she vowed to herself. She turned on the water, splashing herself with cold water and yelping. Once feeling a little more like herself, she went to her room, looking for a bottle of water. She found it on her desk along with a small note.

_Frey,_

_You make a strange drunk. Be glad none of us had video cameras. Don't glare at the note; it didn't do anything to you _(Mara blushed at this point, because she had been).

_Drink the water and come down to the cafeteria. You should be feeling better after the water but don't take your time._

_Gareth_

Mara picked up the water, a little dubious though it seemed innocent enough. Opening it, she sniffed a little before deciding it was only water and gulping it down. She nearly choked as a bitter herbal taste filled her mouth but forced it down, coughing. But her headache almost immediately vanished at that point and she felt alive enough to get dressed. As she pulled on a new shirt, she felt at her ear, realizing the rose Gareth had given her was still tucked into her hair. Pulling it free, she regarded it in surprise. The flower had not wilted and remained in perfect bloom, fragrant and soft in her hand. A slight smile played at her lips as she put it down gently.

As she stepped out of her room not long after, feeling much better about the world and tying back her hair with a claw clip, Thorne came running up to her room, blushing furiously. "Mara! There you are!" he said, skidding to a stop and nearly crashing into a painting.

"Thorne? What's wrong?" She went over to her classmate, helping him up.

He blushed even more furiously. "Mara- Outside!" he sputtered, unable to speak articulately.

He pointed to a window overlooking one of the school courtyards, looking like a tomato with brown-black hair at this point. Mara looked outside and gaped. Scattered everywhere about the courtyard was her underwear and some of her more intimate sleepwear (to her profound embarrassment), hanging from railings, draped from tree branches, lying on benches and tables. Boys were starting to come out, undoubtedly realizing the strange "rain."

"Is- is that yours?" Thorne looked like he wanted to die from embarrassment.

"Unfortunately, yes," Mara said, feeling blood rush to her face. She turned to go back into her room and grab laundry bags. Without much regard to the stuttering boy outside, she threw one at him, starting to march outside. But when she heard a strangled whimper behind her, she whirled swiftly to face him. "For God's sake, don't you have any sisters? Or any female relations?"

Thorne shook his head stiffly, like a marionette. Mara sighed. "They're not going to kill you. _I'm_ not going to kill you. But if you keep on acting like that- Oh, just get someone else! Get Gareth or Nathanial, they have sisters!" Thorne fled, still clutching the black nylon bag.

Gritting her teeth, she marched to the grounds and gathered her clothes, stuffing them into a laundry bag. She flinched as she tried to work out a black silk slip from the branches of a tree without ripping it _too_ much. _'Mom is going to _kill_ me. If Grandmother doesn't…'_

"This yours, girl?" Gabriel drawled, holding up a pair of her panties, even as she whirled to face him swiftly, stuffing the all but ruined nightgown into her laundry bag. Mara inwardly seethed to have him holding the lacy pink pair her grandmother had insisted on getting her. Despite her fury and all her efforts, she couldn't stop a blush from running up her neck to her cheeks once again.

"I didn't realize that you were so fascinated by women's underwear, Gabriel," she said coolly, gathering up several bras and rescuing her shorts from falling from a tree into a puddle of water. "If you like it so much, have it, though there are special places you can go to for better ones."

With that, she turned away, though she was well aware her face was flushing like a beet as she gathered up the rest of her clothing.

Luckily Gareth came along just in time to shoo off the curious onlookers (and those lechers who would think to steal), threatening them with detention in the armory and extra dragon feeding duty. He was particularly good about getting her stockings and tanktops from the trees and on the roof with a handy summoning spell. He didn't make the silly fuss Thorne had, but when he handed back the full laundry bag to Mara, she noticed his ears were pink.

If only the armsmaster would be so nearly charitable.

* * *

Codatorta called her into his personal office in the armory, word having traveled very quickly around campus about the "rain" on the school, after Mara grabbed some toast and cereal, as well as a cup of orange juice from the cafeteria. He glowered at her for quite a while from the other side of his very battered, very ugly desk.

"Did yer laundry bag explode, Frey?" he growled at Mara.

"No sir, just misplaced," she answered impassively, looking right at him.

He glared at her. "I hope this is not a stunt of yours, Frey."

"No sir."

He ran a hand through his hair before giving her the evil eye, taking in a long breath before letting it out. "From now on, yer laundry will be washed by ye and ye alone or separately from the boys'. Magical locks will be added to your closet, laundry hamper, and storage areas then, to stop anythin' of this- nature from happenin'," he growled in a low voice. "We won' make any more concessions for ye than we have to, understood?"

"Yes sir." She looked at him. "Is that all?"

"Ye're dismissed," he said. "Get the 'ell out of my sight."

She sketched a swift bow and walked out of the office as quickly as possible.

Gareth was practically waiting for her after her "meeting" with the armsmaster. He gave her the look that was all too familiar now. She sighed softly and trudged up to her room to change and put on her now very mud caked sneakers.

But surprisingly, they weren't running today, winding through the forest at all but breakneck speeds, but were instead hiking, going through their usual trails for the first half hour. Then Gareth took a detour away from the now familiar paths, taking them on a narrow, winding trail that started to steadily go uphill. It became less dirt and more rock, until Mara was all but scrambling over rock formations. The whole time, her mentor said nothing, climbing up steadily and occasionally checking back on her.

But finally, he took her to a glade, an almost perfectly round clearing surrounded by trees seeming to reach to heaven gently carrying enormous canopies of green and gold, letting in sunlight in dappled patterns upon a ground carpeted with soft green and gold grass. Mara's breath caught in her throat at it, the perfect tranquility of the scene, save for the whisper of wind in the branches and the song of a distant bird. Her ears caught the sounds of a waterfall somewhere, beneath the breeze and sighing of the trees, echoing.

Gareth turned to face her finally. "You've impressed Codatorta somewhat," he said, voice impassive.

Mara blinked at him. "Are- you sure?" she asked, a bit warily, surprised at this change.

Gareth looked almost bored, oddly enough, as he reached for something at the small of his back. "He didn't expect you to be able to spar against him, not to mention fall correctly and actually listen in your lessons. He's got your mettle. Now he's going to break you."

He had a hilt in his hand, a curious chrome and gilt thing that looked like a child's toy at first glance, set with a round gray glass jewel in the middle of its crosspiece. Idly, he twirled it easily in his hand and with a sharp _shing_, a blade hissed into existence. Mara took a step back involuntarily. The blade was an elegant one, humming in the air silently as a longsword traced by gray light. Mara's skin thrilled, feeling energy from that light, not a formless rod from Star Wars, but an actual shape, a crystalline projection of light and energy that promised to be just as effective as any lightsaber, even if it seemed but a colored outline of a sword.

"The longsword. A simple, elegant weapon. Dignified with much history," Gareth said, regarding it and seeming to be talking more to himself than Mara. "Most basic but also the most difficult of weapons. Versatile to be used with two hands or with one, accompanied with or without other weaponry, including shields and dirks."

"Your weapon," Mara said, recalling Andrei's comments.

Gareth looked at her. "You won't be receiving this one for a while. You will be continuing with basic fighting for the first month. Then we experiment. The weapon chooses you and we see what we have to work with after that. Now…" His eyes stared into her. "Let's see what you're made of."

Mara tried not to blanch. She opened her mouth, almost forgetting her place, to protest. Gareth only turned his back to her and went to a sapling at the edge of the grove. He muttered something and with two quick slashes, had two sturdy branches in one hand. He brought them back and stripped them of smaller branches with his blade, tossing one of the wooden staffs to Mara, even as he put his gray blade away.

"Take your stance," he said tersely, letting his hands simply wrap about the middle of the staff comfortably, not even moving, merely standing while holding it in his hands.

Mara weighed the staff in her hands. It wasn't long to be used in the typical fashion of a staff, only reaching about her chest when one end was propped on the ground. She gripped the ends, her left hand holding one end with her right hand gripping a little above it, her kendo grip. Gareth didn't move. His eyes already held the challenge.

Mara attacked, twisting the branch to go for Gareth's hands, to break his grip. Gareth didn't move until the last minute, lifting up one end of the staff and slamming its side into Mara's back, sending her flying. She caught herself in time, though the breath was knocked from her as she managed to straighten up. Gareth didn't even have to smirk to encourage her.

This time, she went for his head and he only lifted the staff to block her, before shoving her away with sheer force. She managed to duck under it, breaking the lock, moving to elbow him in the solar plexus. But he was too quick, moving his arms to lock around her, staff pressed against her throat and starting to press in, choking her. She lifted her foot and swung her heel at his shin, ducking from the chokehold at the same time. By this time, she was gasping for breath, angry red marks already on her throat from the rough bark of his staff.

Gareth feinted, seeming to make a sweep near her groin, aiming for her stomach, but really swinging in the reverse direction and catching her in the cheek. Surprised, she barely realized the blow was strong enough to send her flying, until she slammed into the ground on her side. She craned her head to look up at him, only to have the end of his staff at her throat. He looked at her impassively. Mara sighed in disgust. "I yield."

She could taste blood; she spat and saw crimson on the grass. A trickle slowly seeped from the edge of her mouth. He had probably caused her to bite her cheek when he had struck her. She carefully probed her mouth just in case he had broken a tooth however.

"Not bad," Gareth said with a wry smile. "You lasted longer than I did with my teacher on my first weapons round. Then again, my teacher was my great aunt." He didn't offer her a hand up yet however.

She looked at him, the question probably in her eyes, because he regarded her, staff still at her throat. "You need to get out of the streets," he said after a moment. "Focus less on your anger and rage. They give you power, but they will not help you in learning here. Learn what you must here, until your body knows it forever, _then_ use the power of your rage to strengthen it."

His eyes were unreadable but kept Mara's own dark brown in an unbreakable hold, as real as the staff at her throat. "Who taught you this?"

"I'm a kendo practitioner at home," Mara said. "That's how we fight."

Gareth shook his head. "It doesn't work here… Not the moves you do. I think I may have to re-teach you. My work is cut out… breaking you and putting you back together, before Codatorta gets his share. Let's see if we have a sword or a clod of mud here though." He looked at her, disheveled and still with a trickle of blood running from the edges of her mouth, with something like… derision?

"Teach me what you have to," Mara said stonily. "You're my teacher."

A smile then crossed Gareth's face. He pulled the staff away and offered his hand. "Congrats. You passed the test."

"What?" Mara was too confused to protest being pulled up.

"Students who come with too many attachments are too difficult to teach. They are sent home," Gareth said, almost philosophically. "When you learn something at this level, forget everything else. Your teacher is the Master and his or her word is Law. I was testing your pride, Frey. That stubborn mind of yours is not a bad thing but it could make your road all that much harder, if you constantly insist on being mulish."

Mara lifted a hand to wipe away the blood, rubbing it off on her black pants. "I am too mulish for my own good," she said with a wry smile.

"Hm. At least you know when to swallow your pride." He reached over and wiped away the blood that was left with his thumb. "I think you will do well with the sword."

"No bias from you?" Mara's good humor was returning fairly quickly.

"None at all." Gareth's grin was positively wicked. Mara only laughed.

They fought until the late afternoon, but it was ever so slightly more amiable (That didn't stop Gareth from knocking her flat on the rear, however.). Covered in bruises and nursing a minor cut or two, they both agreed to halt, as Gareth put his staff down by the roots of a tree.

"Come on," he called, gesturing. He had a spectacular clip high on his cheek where Mara had scraped him with the tip of her staff.

Mara trotted after, curious. "What about the staffs?"

"Leave it next to mine, in a similar position. Make sure to thank the tree." He was now disappearing into the trees around the glade.

Mara stared at his retreating back before carefully setting her staff by Gareth's. "Well… Thank you. For letting us use branches," she said awkwardly. She dipped a bow before trotting off after Gareth swiftly.

He was waiting for her not too far away, at a crystalline pond at the base of a tiny, elegant waterfall, falling from a crack in the rocks in a cascade of clear water. Already he was cleaning his hands and throwing water into his face. Mara joined him without speaking much, washing her hands of sap and dust and wishing she could duck her head in the running water.

"Ah, I got you in the cheek again." Gareth unexpectedly turned and with his thumb, wiped at the corner of her mouth.

"I'll live. If I lose a tooth, you can snap your fingers," Mara said, batting his hand away.

Gareth sighed a little. "Magic isn't always that simple… sometimes doing things the normal way is all the better."

Mara cocked her head at him. He looked a little… grim? "You're here because of your power, Mara," he said. "You have power in you, power that connects you to this realm. It's a fairy tale, isn't it?"

"How is it possible though? My parents, they…"

"We don't know. Earth is supposed to have no magical creatures at all. It is a magic free zone, from what we know… But I don't believe a word of that. Nothing can exist without magic, without life energy that is both sentient and unconscious." Gareth shook his head. "It is very likely it is of fairy blood."

"Hold on! I'm human, last I checked, I didn't have Spock ears!"

"Spock?" He blinked quizzically.

"Pointy eared character. Don't ask. I'm not exactly a pixie, now am I?" Mara searched her brain. Was it really possible?

"Fairies here are nothing like what you knew them as, Mara. It is likely you are a fairy. Nearly all the beings here have some sort of fairy blood in them, a gene that makes them responsive to magic and makes them active users. That's why Alfea offered you the post. You have the ability, but it must be trained."

"I'm not exactly getting training for this 'power' now am I?" Mara said sardonically.

"It's not active yet. The thing is though, the minute you emerge as a fairy, when you bring out your wings and your full spell potential, you will be packed off to Alfea. Red Fountain cannot teach you."

Mara felt fear grip her heart in an icy claw. "No."

Gareth looked apologetic. "It's as far as I see it. Codatorta will use any excuse to get you out of here. We really do not have the utilities for fairy magic."

"Then what are the differences? You all have fairy blood but what differentiates these girly pixies with the specialists, with witches or warlocks or whatever else you have?" Mara was getting irritable at this point. It seemed this world may defy the natural laws of Earth, but it was governed by rules that made even less sense than basic physics and chemistry. Then again, it made sense to _them_, even as much as what made sense to _her_ was gibberish in this world. Suddenly, the whole scenario struck her as a fantasy story, with some grand quest and themes with princesses and heroes and big destinies and fights, with good and evil squabbling with chosen ones and prophecies. She loathed the thought.

Gareth looked around and spotted a cluster of flat rocks some distance from the waterfall, just out of sunlight. "Let's sit down and I'll try to explain it to you."

Mara followed, getting more irritated by the moment. "Don't tell me, I have some grand 'destiny' to follow, especially because I'm the first female specialist in training since Lady Shanarra."

Gareth actually looked amused. "Lady Shanarra had a favorite phrase, 'Destiny makes you a great hero then gives you a fine funeral as way of compensation.'" But his grin faded as he eased himself onto a groove on a smooth slab of granite. Mara settled nearby on a similar groove.

Gareth leaned back a little. "Magic is a natural part of this world. We are all attuned to it. We can utilize it and it is part of us. Now, we told you of the three schools of Magix: Alfea, the College of Fairies, Red Fountain, the Academy of Specialists in Heroics and Bravery, and Cloud Tower, the School of Witches and Dark Arts. But they are not the only ones. Not all females can grow wings and utilize magic to that extent, but those with known talent, noticeably princesses, who are of pure, especially powerful lines, are typically admitted to Alfea to fully utilize their powers. Cloud Tower… That's never been explained. Most people really don't want to know because witches… just have bad reputations."

"Then why aren't they killed?"

"Good question. It's because, like it or not, they provide a balance. Without their dark energy usage and rituals, Magix would go out of balance. They purify chaos energy, which appears in spots occasionally, though they convert it into dark energy, and thus continue the cycle of magic in this world. Most people don't know that, on the other hand." Gareth let out a long breath that caused auburn bangs falling in front of his face to flutter up only to fall back in his face again.

"They don't bother to find out either." Mara's voice was so heavy with irony, it probably would have held up a few magnets.

Gareth smiled darkly. "Indeed. Me, I find little wrong with witches. Most of them are actually not bad people. They're often rough about the edges and sometimes a little less than gracious to fairies, but they do have some common sense as well as a sense of humor. I don't blame them though. They often go to Cloud Tower because they don't have their wings come out or… they just don't like Alfea." He looked almost sad. "To tell you the truth, sometimes I feel sorry for those girls. Witches are often ostracized here. They bring themselves to be spiteful because of that hatred, which only continues the cycle of ignorance, bigotry, and retaliation."

"That's a witch? A fairy girl without wings but with magic?" Mara could barely believe her ears. "What kind of crap is that?"

"It's been going on for the last few millennia," Gareth told her gently. "They accept it here. It's just the way things are." But he seemed a little irritated to say the least.

"But- they have a part here. They don't deserve to be treated so badly just because they're dark…"

Gareth looked at her with his dark eyes, regarding her. Then a soft smile crossed his lips and he reached over and ruffled her hair with a friendly hand. "That's why I like you. You look outside of the rose colored glass."

Mara batted at his hand again, finding her face flushing at that simple contact, but hiding it as best she could. "Hey… But you haven't explained about the other magic."

Gareth reached for a stick. He drew a pair of rough butterfly wings on the dirt and then a pentagram right under it. He tapped the point of his rough stylus on the wings. "Recap. Fairy magic is of a sort when a citizen of Magix already possessing magic is at such a level of strength, very formal training is required. The girl develops wings, in a state at which her magic is at its fullest potential of utilization. It is generally positive energy, energy that is always inner but can be based on ambient magic." Mara looked at him quizzically. "Ambient magic is magic already found in things, not in the spell caster. Like, a magician who works with plants who is connected with them, able to use their energy for spells or augment what they already can do, or a sorceress who can weave spells into cloth or jewelry and sometimes literally manipulate magic like wire or thread. Fairies often have an affinity for certain elements or objects, from plants to metals to light to art to animals."

"So these girls can transform… Oh god, it's Magical girl syndrome. That's not happening with me." Mara said that more harshly than she realized.

Gareth looked at her, looking bemused. "There's nothing wrong with it, you know. It's part of you."

"I'm not going to be a giggly bubbly fairy," Mara growled. "Never."

Gareth eyed her for a long moment, seeming to be taken aback by that sudden vehemence. "Moving on then." He pointed to the pentagram. "Witches are dark energy, almost exclusively. They have an affinity for dark energy and thus they know where to go, which is Cloud Tower. But sometimes, they can only be identified by a noticeable lack of wings and are sent there or summoned by the Headmistress of the school. Witches have played many dangerous roles in the past, especially when gathered in covens, because of wars waged over starfire and planets, but are now… nothing more than recluses commonly prejudiced against, known as nasty tricksters with touchy temperaments. Even if they technically have 'fairy' blood."

"Gareth, why are you so…" Mara searched for the word.

"Cynical?" he offered dryly. "My family never hid any details from me. They told me to never take anything at face value. Thus, I thought a lot and asked a lot of questions that made people uncomfortable." He shrugged. "And I discovered things that others… just take for granted."

"That's cool," Mara said, grinning. "That's bold of you, too. I hope your family doesn't mind your taking a sympathetic view of witches though."

He snorted a little. "This is the family that still tells bawdy stories about Lady Shanarra! Every family reunion, we bring out a diary or something and then comes the howls of laughter as yet another person finds out that the poor woman was afraid of enclosed spaces!" He looked off into the distance. "We follow what she said. She never wanted to be portrayed as a plaster saint. It wasn't what she was and that was not why she did the things she did those hundreds of years ago. She was… human, with all the faults and shortcomings of anyone. Like we all are."

Gareth looked at her through a fine fringe of mahogany hair, lit by sunlight now falling to the west, dancing motes of gold about him, even as a breeze scented with fresh water and vegetation and warm sunlight caressed him like a lover. Just the way he tilted his head just so and set his shoulders, he was statuesque, reminiscent of a heroic story, though he wasn't necessarily an impetuous young adventurer, but older, wiser than any of such novice itinerants. A smile played at his lips and his eyes were at once honest and opaque, gleaming in the reflection of shafts of sunlight of a setting sun now dyed to orange-gold.

He blinked at her, breaking the image. "Something wrong?"

Mara couldn't help but blush, turning her face away from him. "It's nothing at all." She stood up hastily. "We should get back. I think I have some homework left…"

* * *

Before she went to bed (after saying goodnight to Gareth), Bishop stopped her in the hallway to give back her CD book. "I hope you don't mind that I burned a few CDs from here," he said brusquely.

Mara blinked at him. "I don't mind at all. I just hope it wasn't too primitive for you." Her comment wasn't nearly as sarcastic as it sounded as she took the book back.

He eyed her for a long moment. "It wasn't," he said shortly. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, "Thank you."

He sounded so gruff about it Mara couldn't help but smile, stifling a chuckle. "Hey, it's no problem." He grunted and stalked off in the opposite direction.

Once she got into her room, she sat on her bed to open it up again. A CD was tucked into the front of the book. "Mix #5" was written on it in a neat, if somewhat sparse, hand in mathematically precise rings around the silvery surface. Curious now, she pulled it from her book and put it in her CD player, settling on her bed.

The beginning seemed too poppy, something that was faintly techno, but weak. Mara frowned. This was unexpected. Bishop didn't strike her as the type to listen to this music, in all his punk rocker glory. But then the cheerful melody faded, for harsher guitar and drum, ripping in the wake along with the hoarse, screaming voices of male singers. Then the singing began, and Mara found herself lost in the music, captured by the lyrics as well as the voices of the band.

"**What is so great, you can just live that way yeah**

**You diss the way how I survived, but you want to be me, don't you?**

**You always chose the easy way and solved everything, so let's go for the third, huh?**

**All the people who waited for revolution**

**All the hope for the peace**

**Now they are sick of lies, so to the elder who fed only themselves**

**Was it not enough that we were your blood and flesh?**

**Do you believe you can play the world within your palm?**

**I'm going mad, you just beat off to set a good example, get out!**

**Do you believe you can cover the sky with your hands?**

**When will you stop building castles with sand?**

**You never know how I've been living, you can't understand**

**this profound world,**

**It's the tree you cannot look up to**

**You can't even dream about it, that's funny**

**Think about it, you really put yourself into it**

**Don't worry, I took care of those situation**

**Only the matter of time that my fruit will ripe**

**The sky is mine.**

**Do you believe you can play the world within your palm?"**

**We've protected this world, through a great ordeal**

**We all dream of the future that we depend on each other and walk together.**

**The one who's lost in the darkness**

**Now open your eyes, it's time**

**The one who held his breath in the darkness**

**Now open your eyes, it's time**

**The place where the opportunity is present**

**Where the justice is ruler**

**We cannot give up, we must take everything back**

"**Do you believe you can play the world within your palm?"**

She was so absorbed in the music she almost didn't hear her cell phone go off, until she saw it rattling on her desk. "Crap!" She scrambled to get off her bed and ran to her desk, getting the phone just in time, as well as slamming off her CD player. "Hello?"

"Hey, big sis!"

"Daniel? What are you doing calling me? Isn't it late?" She eased into her seat.

"Nope! Mama let me call you. I miss you, Sis."

"I miss you too, kid." Mara let a soft smile cross her face.

He seemed a little down but perked up as he asked eagerly, "How is it? Are you a knight yet? Do you have a horse and everything?"

"Hold on, kid. I don't have a horse and I won't be a knight for another four years. They have cars here, and bikes too. But it's tough."

"How are the guys?"

Mara chose her words carefully. "It's like high school. There are the good ones and the bad ones."

"Ooo, Dad's going to get you!"

"Watch it, Dan. That's if our two older freaks don't get to me first."

He laughed, though it was a bit muted. "Mara?"

"Hm?"

"Can I join you? I mean, I can be a page or something or something. Or… will I be able to go before you graduate?"

Mara hesitated. "I don't know, kid. I know you miss me. I miss you guys too. It's not the same here without Gran's pot roast or her chicken spaghetti. I'll ask. What's wrong, kid? Are kids making fun of you again because of your glass eye?" She waited with her breath held, suddenly very anxious.

There was silence on the other line before he finally said, "The eye company mixed up my order, Sis. I got the wrong color eye. Mom was so mad… But I had to use it. The kids made fun of me at school… They also say that you got sent to military school, that you finally got to the psycho ward."

Mara's heart all but broke. "Daniel…"

"Why do I have to be different, big sis? I don't play any differently from them. I know you're not psycho." His voice audibly trembled, in uncharacteristic sobs. He may have been quiet and rather sensitive, but he never let himself cry, not even in front of her.

"People are… just plain mean sometimes," she said softly. "Sometimes it's because they're afraid. Sometimes… it's just like them to be cruel because they don't feel good about themselves. But sometimes… unlike what some teachers and adults say, some kids are just plain mean. It doesn't change, Neil. I wish it could. Kid, you're better than any one of them though. _What limitations you have are only the ones you put on yourself_. That's the truth, Neil."

Daniel sniffed on the other end of the phone. "Mom got my eye fixed, but- but- they're calling me a freak still and ask where I lost my eye."

"Tell them, 'Hmm… I thought it was in here…' and pop it out in front of them. That'll give them a shock, for sure."

That startled a laugh, albeit a slightly wet one, from her little brother. "Mom'll kill me."

"She'll be laughing. Grandmother will be the one killing you." She paused. "Neil, you can't run away from your problems. You can't run away from these people."

"I know, Mara. It gets down right… crappy here."

"Neil! You're not supposed to say things like that!"

"How can I help it? Uncle Herb is visiting. He's using far worse though; he and Dad are watching basketball."

"You shut your ears, young man," Mara said sternly, wagging a finger into the phone unconsciously. Then she laughed at herself. How much she grew like her mother every day!

"Mara?"

"Yeah?" She snapped out of it, worried again.

"I love you, big sis."

"I love you too, little bro. Get some sleep and at school tomorrow, pop out your eye and tell those idiots that if that scares them, it's nothing compared to the psycho sister who got packed off to military school!"

"Bye!"

Mara turned off the phone and regarded it, weighing the plastic and metal warmth in her hand slowly. "Nothing's ever fair in this world, isn't it?" she mused aloud. She smiled sadly. It didn't seem to be fair for her sweet little brother, who never asked for such troubles. She ran a hand through her hair, desperately wishing, in one incredibly bitter, despairing moment, that all things could be fair, in any world with humans.

She now reached for her PC and flipped it up. Crono looked drowsily at her as the screen blinked to life. Then he stood up at attention. "Good evening, miss. If I may help you?"

"Relax, Crono." She managed a smile for him. "Crono, what are the requirements for Red Fountain students?"

"In acceptance? Well, certainly good blood and clean records. But the requirements are fairly vague. Why do you ask?"

"I'm just wondering. I got accepted but I'm an Earth girl. I get the feeling that is not common."

He blinked at her. "Of course not, miss. The last official female student of Red Fountain was…"

"I know, I know. It was Lady Shanarra. But what is it about Earth that- well, makes it so-" Mara groped for the words.

"Lowly regarded?" Crono offered dryly. He sighed a little, seeming to have the similar contempt for humanity that his programmer did. "Earth is considered little more than a backwater, a quaint desert devoid of magic."

"But there is magic! I know there is!"

"None that we can recognize." He eyed her for a long moment. "Perhaps it is because what we depend on, mostly starlight and starfire, is all but gone from your planet. Or perhaps… everyone has simply just ignored Earth."

"It's- plausible. You're pretty cool, Crono. I have to admit we're totally obsolete, in face of creating things like you."

Crono actually blushed on the computer screen. He averted his face with a fan he pulled from somewhere off screen. "You're too kind, miss."

"Do you want me to leave you on, Crono?"

"If you could let me charge by your laptop, that will be fine," he said politely.

"All right." She propped up the console on her table and rose, yawning as she stretched. "It's time for bed…"

As she trudged to the bathroom, Crono spoke up again, "By and by, I recommend you test your family for magical ability. It is often passed on through blood."

Mara stopped as it registered. "And I suppose you know how to test this?"

"You may want to ask a teacher about it." He refused to say anything more and as a way of distraction, turned her CD player back on again.

She blinked. She hadn't realized just how sentient the program was, just how independent he was and technically beyond her comprehension. It was oddly unsettling and she suddenly felt the urge to sit down. Startled, she paused before her sink, hand dropping to settle on the white porcelain. It sunk in to her just how different this world was. And just how different she was.

She stared into the mirror. A girl looked back at her, black hair cropped to a not quite bob and streaked garishly with magenta, with serious eyes that were on the black side of brown. Her lips were slightly parted, but they were already lips that were more likely to stay neutral than to smile. She reached up, with a hand that was muscled but not elegant, and touched the cool surface of the mirror. "Who are you?" she whispered and the girl in the mirror echoed her.

But images filled the mirror and she could not step away from it, hand seemingly glued to the glass. Her face became more elegant, leaner, with fuller lips and larger eyes, skin paler and smoother, neck longer and narrower. Her hair, beautifully streaked in perfect lines of pink and red, billowed about her in an invisible wind, as her t-shirt became the bodice of a gown in burgundy silk, shimmering softly gold beneath the red silk overlay. Wings of palest blue hummed behind her, long oblongs tapering to sharp points. Pale blue skies and stars of silver and white glowed behind her, her bathroom now gone, as though she were really flying, not just stuck in front of a mirror in front of an illusion. She could only gape, unable to tear herself away.

But it changed again. Her hair became longer and started to curl softly, turning pitch black. The gown and wings vanished for silver and black armor and a cloak of darkest midnight blue. The sky became blood red and black, the moon changing phases behind her. Streaks of blood appeared and vanished from her face, her armor pristine one moment, and covered with gore the next. Her face was slimmer still, but nowhere near as pretty or fragile. Grim, polished, handsome but remote as an icy mountain top, where spring would never come and the Snow Queen forever sat enthroned. Crow's feet already edged her dark eyes, eyes that were blank and sad and worldly and ancient.

But then, it whirled and vanished. She watched as she returned to as she was, still staring into the mirror, the girl with dark eyes and round face and browned skin. Then, two strong arms with finely boned hands wrapped about her reflection from behind. A man's face was in the mirror, burrowing in her shoulder, affectionately nuzzling her as those arms held her in a decidedly possessive manner. Mara squinted. His face was blurred; she couldn't even tell what color or style his hair was. Every time she tried to concentrate, looked at a bit of color or a strand that fell into his eyes or by his face, it blurred and changed endlessly until her head and eyes ached and watered just to see it. Soft white clinging close to his head, long auburn curling about his face, purple spiking from the top of his skull, red-black in careless, greasy ringlets… She didn't know why, but her chest suddenly ached and she felt… anxious? She had kissed boys in the past, had even had a boyfriend or two. But why did this suddenly disturb her, like she was still a child learning that boys were fun the kiss and… the kissing scenes from movies weren't as "weird" as she thought? Finally, she had it.

She growled, though every word was an effort just to say, "Get. The- Hell. OUT!" And she _tore_ her hand off the mirror. The image vanished immediately and she fell back, landing soundly on her rear on the tile. She stared at the mirror, rubbing at her now aching hand (it reminded her having a giant band-aid ripped off her hand), but it was empty, holding nothing more than a reflection of the bathroom.

That night, she dreamed of enormous castles made of sand being crushed under her feet, collapsing and melting into the ashen ground, but millions more loomed in the distance.

* * *

Extra Note: The first song on Bishop's CD is a translation of the _very _good song "Paradox" by The Trax, a band from Korea.

Details on the contest…

I'm not too strict on the matter but there are some guidelines I would like to see followed:

1. Entries must be Winx Club fanfiction and cannot be already written (i.e. already in your archive).

2. Multi-parters are acceptable but aim for one-shots, or rather, one or two chapter stories. I'd rather not have to wait.

3. Any sort of characters may be used, canon or otherwise (i.e. Bloom, Icy, Darcy) but avoid Mary Sues and Gary Sues at all costs (unless writing a Mary Sue Winx Club parody). Crossovers will be acceptable, but must be in character.

4. Poetry entries do not count (unless part of a story).

5. Tell me of your entry via the reviews or email them to me at tsumishiroi yahoo. com.

6. Be original and _have fun_.


	7. Chapter 6: Pretend It's Rain

By the way, a quick note for the reader: "Marcus" (the nasty one) has been changed to "Gabriel" because of confusion with another character with the same name (the sweet, shy one introduced in one of the first chapters but never seen again).

* * *

Chapter Six: Pretend It's Rain

* * *

The following week seemed to consist of nothing more than fighting and studying, sleeping and eating. Their class had noticeably shrunk in size now and Mara was seeing fewer and fewer smirks and gossips in class as all started to become a little grimmer, even if the workload had eased because of the eventual cycle of adaptation. Not that the teachers were any less hard on any of them, despite their number. Bruises were on handsome faces almost perpetually, bandages in profusion as well as the odd astringent smell of bruise potion in the hallway.

Gareth drove her to the point of exhaustion, but never over, leaving her with just enough energy to get through arms lessons with Codatorta, academics with the rest, and homework after, but not one bit more. She almost always fell asleep after her second shower in the evening, not even able to peruse a page or two of her late night reading. Irritatingly enough, Nathanial didn't seem show any sign of discomfort or weariness. Or Gabriel, for that matter, though Mara did note dark circles under his eyes from time to time, though that may have just been because of dim lighting and his pale skin.

It seemed that she struggled alone in her entire class, as they chattered about dates and concerts easily enough, even if they had to serve detention from time to time (for said gossip or other misdemeanors). She seemed to have twice the load they did, including after class sessions with the Madame in female etiquette and Gareth's extra training. Needless to say, she was feeling very harried, seeming to be in a whirl of laps and curtseys and strange myths, even if it was interesting and intriguing and more than enough for those who sought experiences.

Dark circles were almost permanent fixtures beneath her eyes (which were sunken into her face) and her hair was almost always damp from a shower or sweat or both. Already not the female fashion plate, she seemed horribly disheveled and, well, _messy_ compared to her classmates, as she seemed to throw on her practice clothes then her uniform then her street clothes then her makeshift "gown" (for curtseying) then her street clothes again then her pajamas, in between showers and laps. It was not uncommon to see her in the front of class, madly scribbling notes and following every word, her hair pulled into a rough, scraggly bun to keep it out of her eyes, looking the complete absentminded scholar. Most embarrassing of all, she fell asleep over her food once or twice and had to be shaken awake, usually by Nathanial, Gareth, or on the rare occasion, Bishop (Thorne still wouldn't meet her eyes, blushing furiously as he walked away from her as quickly as possible whenever they passed by in the hallways.).

It seemed that no one cared.

But Mara knew better than to complain. Gareth had a way of giving her a _look_ that made any sort of protest asinine and puny and well… _whiny_. It made her rather disgusted with herself, and though normally after such a _look_ she would have scuttled away (not good in Gareth's eyes though), she would return to whatever she had been doing or did whatever she was supposed to do. Her teachers were not much better in terms of sympathy, though Chaucer seemed to understand, giving her a gruff pat (though in Chaucer's terms it was more like a slap) on the shoulder as he passed by her in class demonstrations of fire building both as encouragement and to keep her wits about her, and her languages teacher was kind enough to let her doze in the back of the class as long as she turned in her work in time.

Did she really have any reason to complain though? She chose this path of her free will; last she checked, raging Visigoths hadn't rampaged through and kidnapped her to make her into some kind of Amazon (though thankfully, she wouldn't be slicing off a breast; that bordered on extreme). Still, it was eating away at her nerves and her temper; it took the patience worthy of a rock to stop from snapping at the best of times these days…

But it seemed brighter, even as she felt like her limbs were going to fall off and all that she wanted was a soft bed and eight complete hours of uninterrupted sleep. Gareth was moving up in sparring with her and actually _complimenting_ her on her progress. Codatorta was at a state of not quite ignoring her but not constantly picking on her. Even the Madame was caring- in her own stiff, overly formal manner.

At the same time, it was a great relief when Sunday crawled around and she had her appointment with Domino.

* * *

A pale hand, fingers so long and elegant that they did not seem to belong to anyone _human_, wrapped about a cup of porcelain so thin, it was translucent. Fragrant steam rose from the faintly lavender liquid inside as the hand slowly lifted the handle-less cup to pale, thin lips. Not a slurp, not a bubble could be heard as the drinker sipped, the steam of the tea creating an odd, delicate mist that was reminiscent of incense, smelling of lavender flowers, mint, cinnamon, ginger, and oddly enough, chocolate. 

Mara tried very hard not to gape like a complete idiot. Domino had shown up at the door wearing regalia worthy of an imperial Japanese tea ceremony. Only… she privately doubted many Japanese _male_ participants would wear an outfit that included a voluminous outer kimono of luxurious blood red silk with edgings of lavender and silver brocade in some subtle, intricate pattern, an enormous embroidered crescent moon cradling a mist covered castle in the mountains centered upon its back. Layers upon layers of multiple under robes of all shades of red, from the faintest watery hint of scarlet that _bordered_ on pink to a particular blood tinged ruby that was nearly black, created a rainbow upon his arms beneath the enormous outer kimono, each one a little longer than the next, so a spectrum of colorful sleeve hems went from his elbow to his wrist. He looked a little healthier now, his face no longer so gaunt, and the shadows under his eyes no longer so dark. Perhaps it had been the outfit, but a little blood seemed to have returned to his face, making him seem less… vampire-like.

The computer wizard had gravely accepted her gift of tea in its fanciful box of lavender embossed with silken Chinese dragons in white and silver, as well as the ice cream, before inviting her to his "simple" tea. If simple meant a delicate marble top table covered in a red silk cloth with a silver and clear porcelain tea service, complete with an enormous silver tea pot and a porcelain and silver tiered construction laden with dainty sandwiches, little cakes, fruit tarts and a positively enormous spun sugar and white frosted pastry creation that was a marvel to see.

He gave her a long look over the cup. "You can drink from the cup, you know," he said in his usual dark humor. "It won't break."

Mara blushed and picked up her cup, but delicately, as to not break it and prevent her fingers from getting burnt. The fragile porcelain under her fingers was faintly warm but not too hot.

She raised the cup to her lips and sniffed softly. It still smelled strongly of lavender and smoke, the chocolate melting away and she sipped it. The first few drops were faintly bitter but slowly melted into a sweet taste in the back of her mouth. Her face must have shown her surprise because Domino chuckled, and it was a surprisingly warm sound.

"Worth the price, eh?" he said casually, before taking her plate without so much as a by your leave and starting to heap it with treats from the tea service. Still in the middle of drinking, she couldn't protest but was surprised to see him pick out her favorites, including miniature chocolate éclairs and raspberry tarts. The plate then hovered over to her, sitting down by her cup carefully.

"Thank you," she said, if a little awkwardly, picking up a tart and feeling positively barbaric in face of all this.

Domino smiled at her, a long twist of his thin lips. He had raised the lighting in his little cave and had cleared away quite a bit of the equipment. Now it was a fairly hospitable place of red silk lanterns along with a red and black carpet on the ground, patterned with gold butterflies and peacocks. "I don't deal with niceties and formalities as nearly often as you think," he said after a while, his fingers slowly pulling apart a scone and plying it jam and cream.

She blinked. "Well…"

"Don't worry about what's 'proper,' my dear," he said, voice sounding a little less hoarse. "I really couldn't give a damn. As long as you don't get crumbs and jam stains on the drapes."

She laughed a little. "You can wave your hand and get it all away, Domino, I'm sure." She picked up the éclair she had been eying and bit into it, closing her eyes faintly at the mixed sensation of rich chocolate icing, lightly sweetened custard filling and wonderfully moist but flaky pastry. It was gone in a few seconds.

"You like your sweets, I see." The computer wizard looked vaguely amused, even as he started to demolish his own pile of treats, starting with the scone.

"Unfortunately. That's the only sweet thing about me," Mara said after a mouthful of very good yellow cake.

He cocked his head at her, looking very much like a bird. "Oh really?"

"My brothers got the rose petals; I got the thorns," she said with a shrug, picking a raspberry tart.

"And who said this to you?"

"Countless relatives. Even my teachers admitted I was rather prickly." She picked at the delicate pastry with one of Domino's pretty silver spoons, breaking it apart and watching the red filling slowly trickle onto her white plate.

He looked at her, taking another cup of tea. "It is not so much that you are… 'prickly' but rather, you are rather- unwilling to mince your words. It is never a bad thing."

"I suppose that's why you're a hermit," she said sardonically. "If that is your sort of girl."

Domino snorted most inelegantly. "I like my privacy. Without meddling little chits who come about for repairs any imbecile can do. But… I suppose I _am_- hmm… magnetic." He smiled with uncharacteristic smugness.

"Nice, Cruella."

The computer wizard gave her a withering look. "I know the reference."

"I wouldn't have thought you would follow Earth literature. Or is it movies?"

"There's much about me you wouldn't think of." He took a sip of tea placidly, his voice a soft drawl that spoke of disdain for those unfortunate enough to be unenlightened of the secrets that were common knowledge to him.

They sat in silence for a minute and Domino filled her teacup once more. She sipped at it carefully; it was a little stronger now. Then she looked at him. "Could I ask you a question?"

"You already have but I will answer another." He was the picture of serenity.

She glared at him for the condescension but continued. "How much do you know about my world, Domino?"

He put his cup down and started smoothing his sleeves. His eyes were suddenly very, very odd. "You want to know the connection between this world and yours. Of magic."

"Yes." She found her voice oddly hushed and raspy.

"Child," the computer wizard said almost gently. "You have two worlds to comprehend when one is more than any mortal, fairy or otherwise to bear. You need not worry."

She was caught by his gaze, blank but almost- fathering, a saint's face in some ancient cathedral, a masterpiece of the Baroque era, perhaps, when going to church was a grand, grand affair in huge palaces glimmering with gold and jewels and whitened stone. Sadness but sweet sorrow, and a sense of guardianship, though somewhat absent-minded, as though so many problems occupied time and responsibility as to be overwhelming, even for a divine grace. She did not know why but she found herself telling him of the mirror. "I don't know what it was, but- it scared me. Do mirrors act like that, even here?" she finished.

He looked like he was brooding for a moment before finally speaking. "Hmm. Not- _exactly_. Catalysts and- deviants like yourself tend to attract forces in this world. This- is a tale world. It has culminating events, incidental or otherwise, that lead to great clashes and conflicts every hundred years. But there _must_ be an ending, be it tragic or happy, in scales ranging from star crossed lovers in a village in the smallest of planets or the very existence of a dimension. You have magic around you, magic that will try to push you into a certain path for you- in your stubbornness and abilities have the capabilities of being great."

"Wait a second! You mean- I'm being pushed around? What the hell is a catalyst? Oh-" Mara couldn't believe her ears. Being a gamepiece on a giant chessboard was _not_ what she wanted at all.

Domino favored her with a long, weighing look. "The mirror- Mirrors are tools in this world, powerful ones. They can be portals taking people to the past, to other places, for nothing is as uncanny as them. The Powers that Be in this world can contact you through them, simply because mirrors bend almost every single rule that dictates this world." His long fingers tapped along the table. "What you saw last night was not- an awakening, as some would think. Now that I examine it, I believe- it was not so much as a prodding or birth as a reflection of your mind."

"_I_ put those images there?"

"In a fashion. You have potential, the potential to turn from this warrior's path, so lonely, so hard, and become a truly powerful magical being. I assure you, your magic is not a miniscule thing, whether you use it for the sword or the wand. If you were to accept the fairy's wings, you can find greatness there. But- that is not an option," he added upon seeing her expression. "You deny it and thus- the path is weakened, blurred out ever so slightly, withdrawn from your particular road of life. If your resolve is strong and the clearest threshold is passed by… any chance of being a fairy woman will die. You are at an awkward time, young Mara Frey, for you are in a time of transition and growth. Your time of the trials of adulthood are nigh, what sort of person you will be is critical at this time. What your magic is was revealed last night with that first image, for that is what it truly is."

"I'm- a fairy?" She sat stock still in her seat, frozen as the world screeched to a halt and stood there for an eternity as the thought ran about her head like a little mouse trapped in a jar, going round and round and round-

Domino cleared his throat imperiously to fortunately break that horrendous cycle, giving her a slightly disgusted look. "It is not the end of the world! But your path is harder. In denying what you are- you weaken yourself. And it does not do you too many favors. I loathe those who lie to themselves." He snorted querulously but he softened. "But I have no qualms about your will, my dear. I am sure- that whatever destiny tried to hand you, you will do it on your own terms, and you will survive, with flying colors. I do not think you will ever be truly happy as a fairy anyways, so that will be another lie of its own. Paradox within paradox, you see."

Mara blushed and changed the subject. "What about the other pictures?"

"Your intellect and your heart," Domino said promptly. "Your intellect knows the true price of knighthood, the blood and battlefields. If you choose this path- you will encounter battle, and none of that heroic stuff of killing dragons in one blow with a wand and they fall over with no blood. And your heart…"

"My heart?"

"It is also a possibility, Mara." The computer wizard slowly pushed back strands of white hair from his narrow, pale face. "Your heart is a woman's. You can easily fall in love with any of the males you saw, but nothing is solid, as your life is to be like an epic, as you have the soul and heart of a woman, and romance is an essential in any sort of story of a magical, powerful girl. But- tales aside, you are a sentient being, something like a human. You have needs emotionally too, even if you choose the way of the sword."

Mara stared into her teacup. "I don't need anyone," she said softly. "I don't need them. I'll rescue myself from the tower. I'll chop off my hair. I won't touch the spindle. I won't open the door. I'll kill the monster myself, on my own."

"I have no doubt of that. But the most dangerous dragon is always in you, my dear. Right- here." He pointed to her chest, at her heart, and his eyes at once pitied and appraised, as if he knew the ending and yet wondered if she was up to it and could change whatever he saw.

* * *

"Something troubling you?" Gareth helped Mara up from yet another disarming session. 

She wiped sweat and grass from her brow with the back of her hand, groping for a bandanna she had left in her pocket. Shaking her head, she tied back her cropped hair. "It's nothing. I think- I'm just a little burned out."

"I guess I've been a little hard on you, eh? Tell you what, why don't we go swimming?" The auburn haired young man grinned.

Mara knew her eyes were bulging, though she gripped onto her weapon (Gareth had all but been ready to kick her ass into next week the last time when she let her grip falter and the weapon slid to the ground). "You're joking."

"I never joke," he said mock seriously. "Now, are you going to take me up on it or not?"

"Uh- I don't really have a swimsuit with me."

"Leave the details to me. Come on, we can swim in the pond." He brushed off every protest with a casual wave of his hand and sauntered off, even as Mara sputtered and scrambled after him.

He was already stripping off his shirt by the time she had caught up with him, tossing it on a rock. "I have older sisters in a household of women," he called over to her. "It's not as though I'll ogle."

"There's a difference between being nude with other _girls_ and this," she yelled back, settling on a rock.

He arched a brown eyebrow even as he was shimmying out of his pants, folding these though. Mara noted absently that he wore black and blue boxers (in a pattern of blue flames licking up the hems) before looking away, for politeness' sake. "I don't know too much about women's fashion but-" He scrutinized her. "Bikini?"

"No!" she snapped vehemently.

"I was joking. You're as bad as my sisters." He snapped his fingers and a lurid turquoise blue towel popped out of nowhere and landed in his hand, rolled up neatly. "Here."

Mara took it somewhat hesitantly. "Where did you get this?"

"It's magic," he said with that infuriating wink.

She glared. "It has to come from _somewhere_."

"Fine. The family house. I don't think my family would mind, considering how many women live there. You're around the same size as my sister Briar."

She unrolled the towel, blinking in bemusement. Gareth had surprisingly good taste and a good eye for color. "Don't you dare peek," she warned.

He was stifling a snicker as he pointed to a small lean-to, created by two slabs of rock that had somehow slipped and now leaned near the rocks of the waterfall. She glared at him and stormed off. She came out, feeling a little awkward at wearing a bathing suit a boy, or rather, a male, in Gareth's case, had picked out for her.

It was dark blue, long swim trunks with white accents and a tank style top with white straps and trimming, leaving her mostly covered, which was a relief. The girl who owned this was a little more generous in the chest than Mara but luckily the material was able to compensate when necessary. She pulled back her sweaty hair, letting it loose from her bandanna to fall just hovering above her shoulders.

Gareth glanced over at her as she came over, putting her clothing close to his. "Good to see my eye for women's clothing isn't that bad." His hair was already wet, almost black from the water and clinging close to his skull as he grinned widely at her.

"You flatter yourself," she said acridly.

She rolled her eyes, snorting, as she tentatively put one foot in the water. A shiver immediately ran up her leg, prickles running up her foot, and she pulled it out, ready to jump in and rough it on her own terms. Unfortunately… she wasn't about to be given that option. Gareth all but surged from the water, pulling her in. She had barely enough time to shriek something very obscene at him before falling into the _cold_ water. By the time she surfaced, gasping for breath and shivering, he was smirking at her.

"You- you- bas-" Shivering so hard she couldn't even think of the words, she settled for glaring at him and making her way insidiously to him, even as he howled in laughter, eyes dancing with irreverent glee.

Even as she yanked him under and started a game that was half water fight and half swim tag, her blood rushing and lungs working, her tension left her as she forgot everything, at least for a moment. In fact, she didn't realize that she was stressed at all until she sunned with Gareth on a flat, sun-warmed rock on shore like a lizard on the mountainside, her troubles something vague and abstract in a distant cupboard in her mind. Her hair was fanned out on the craggy granite surface, drying nicely in the sun as she closed her eyes, smelling the water mingling with the golden, warm smell of grasses and slowly dying leaves, the smells of autumn approaching. It reminded her vaguely of home, but there was an uncomfortable acrid tinge to the wind, reminding her of ice and liquid nitrogen.

"Feeling better?" came Gareth's voice roughly to her left.

Mara settled for making a satisfied sound as the flat, tear shaped leaves of the birches rattled and sighed nearby. She was too lazy, too satisfied to do much else.

Gareth laughed throatily. "That's good then. All work and no play make a dull Red Fountain student."

"All play and no work makes a too interesting one," she drawled. "And a lazy one and perverted one and-"

"I get it, I get it! Domino's rubbing off on you too much. Or is it Chaucer?"

"Domino is a misanthrope who likes to mess with people's heads but I don't need to steal his lines. Chaucer is a paranoid-" she paused, actually pondering the craggy, uneasy Survival teacher.

"Don't be hard on him," Gareth said quietly. "He's had a tough life. There's more than enough reason to be paranoid now. If he was sane at this point- well, I'd seriously be frightened."

"I'm not trying to be mean." She shrugged a little, feeling the rough surface of the boulder snagging on her bathing suit and rubbing at the flesh of her back. "But he is a little- over the top sometimes."

"Over the top doesn't even begin to cut it with Chaucer. But he likes you. You've actually wormed your way into his favor. Which is a little funny, considering he's a bit of a misogynist."

"As long as he doesn't do that Codatorta style, I'm fine."

"Now that's not affection, that's just plain misogynistic torture."

Mara let her eyes crack open to look at her tutor. "Indignant on my behalf, hmm?"

"Shut it."

"Fine then." Silence drifted into the air once more like a meandering butterfly. Before Mara broke it like the proverbial bullfrog looking for a snack.

"Why would Chaucer like me?"

"Most of your teachers like you. You pay more attention to them than most other students, considering you're almost always at the front of the class, on time, and with piles of notes. You actually do your homework. And you admit when you're wrong. That counts for points."

"Humph. I guess so."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Frey. Afraid of pride before fall?"

"In a fashion." She stared up at the sky, lifting up her hands and looking at the heavens partially obscured by her dark fingers. "But- I'm confident in myself. I know my limits."

"Don't bother explaining yourself to me." Gareth laughed softly, a warm chuckle that made Mara squirm with something like envy at the richness of it. And yet, she laughed as well, somehow knowing that Gareth didn't care at the tiny hint of hysteria in it, a laugh that bordered just slightly on a cackle. Because it was hers, twisted as it was.

* * *

The next days then weeks then- (was it a month or two?) Mara couldn't tell as time seemed to have a life of its own, going as it would, from fast to slow to moderate, never accommodating anyone but itself. Her classes became easier, somewhat, not in that the teachers were any more lenient on them but that she was slowly adjusting to the workload. Perhaps it was because she did not indulge nearly as much as her fellow classmates in entertainments and trivialities. True, she had bit of swimming with Gareth, tea with Domino, a study night with Nat and some other freshmen, but she had none of the social life others bothered with. 

She was too tired to really _care_ and too sensible to actively pursue such wonders but still, she could not suppress the occasional surge of green envy as Thorne tended a pair of very lovely climbing vines with flowers that were every shade of violet ranging from the faintest silver-lavender to a purplish color that was like velvet blackness or as Bishop and W alternately rocked out in their dorm rooms, the bass so loud it made ornaments shake. It wasn't as though she was a complete social pariah after all; she liked parties well enough and gatherings and a general "life." But, her practical side would win and she would merely shake her head and go on with whatever she was doing (she kept a ready stock of earplugs for the "band" nights in her desk).

To compound the mixed feelings, she was building muscle already as she tried to pull on one of the few delicate things she owned, a blue silk shirt that had been the rage a couple seasons ago but was still one of her favorite pieces of "feminine" clothing, to her chagrin, finding that it was far too tight upon her arms. Aching knees and suddenly shorter hemlines reminded her that she still was growing. She flinched every time, but then again… it was for the best, considering how her voluminous bondage pants had dragged behind her, cuffs catching under her shoes unless she wore boots. This time, they actually _fit_ properly for once.

Gareth laughed at her when she complained about it to him about that during one of their morning runs.

"I don't see what's so funny," she snapped. "My parents aren't going to be pleased. The only good thing about my last growth spurt was that I got to throw out all of my skirts. Mom wasn't too pleased about that _or_ the cash it takes to replace a wardrobe!"

"I can adjust your clothing for you. It's a simple spell," he said, laughter subsiding to chuckles. She scowled at the easiness of that offer, the casual air of a man born with a convenience all his life and explaining to a country cousin. But suddenly, the anger vanished, replaced with cold calculation.

Mara favored him with a long look. "Teach me it," she said, on a sudden impulse. She blinked, surprised at her own audacity. But she was suddenly aware as something pushed at her as though she were brimming from head to toe with _something_ and _needed_ to let some of it go…

He frowned at her. "I just can't _teach_ you," he said.

"Why not? Don't I have something?" She looked up at him. "Gareth, I have magic. Isn't that why I'm here?"

He sighed. "Mara. I'm not the one to teach you. They have magical classes here." He scrutinized her. "As far as I know, your ability is dormant. You're not ready yet."

"But-" She tried to describe what she felt, that odd heaviness looming over her, that sensation of being _full_ and stuffed to the brink of explosion.

"Saladin's been watching you. He'll let you know when you're ready for it. As for now…" He eyed her. "We're just going to have to run off that extra energy."

In the frantic running that followed and the bone deep tiredness afterwards, she never did get around to making sure he would adjust her clothing for her.

* * *

That night, she went through each and every piece of clothing in her wardrobe. The damage wasn't as bad as she had thought, she mused, as she cast rueful glances at the piles of mostly dark fabric on her bed. It was mostly the feminine garb that was already close fitting on her already that was the problem. Shame really… She touched the silks and laces and fine linen that her grandmother had sent her, epitome of femininity yet the height of fashion, all in bright tones of pink and turquoise and emerald and lavender that, most irritatingly enough, actually suited her. It wasn't as though she _disliked_ pretty things… what practicality did they have though? Upon impulse, she picked up one of the few things she admitted grudging admiration for. 

It was a simple dress, made of a fabric that bordered blood red in color, a color that warmed her tanned skin and made her all the more- visible, as she affected black and dark hues all too often. Following her upper body dangerously closely, it fell above her calves in a soft flared skirt, hems embroidered with black roses that seemed to have fallen from careless hands, leaving trails of hovering, dying ebony petals. In a moment of reflection, Mara held it to her body as she looked into the mirror, letting her calloused hands run over the slick surface and wincing as her rough fingertips caught on the fine material. Why had she packed this particular one? Well, it wasn't as though she would have a problem fitting into _this_ particular dress, as it had no sleeves, just wide straps. In fact, it probably would fit her _better_, considering even a month here burned off much of what excess fat was on her body.

She sighed and put the clothes away. What need did she have for most of it anyways? Wearing dresses didn't do anything for her here. No dates to go on. Domino and Gareth could care less about what she wore on their meetings; they may as well have been- well… inclined to other paths.

Burning a little red at the thought and banishing images of auburn hair mingling with black and white, she went to her desk, opening her laptop. Gareth had followed on his word and had upgraded it. It was lighter than a dream, easily slipped into a backpack, not to mention with a faster connection (even with Earth sites) and a very nice silver and blue casing (naturally embossed with her now famous logo of silver tribal dragons). She sighed ruefully as her background of an ocean scene came up and she pulled up one of her assignments (a quite entertaining translation of an epic poem for Languages). It was almost done, just needing a little tweaking but she was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," she called. "But leave the door open."

Of all people it could have been, it was Bishop. She blinked in bemusement as he shut the door slightly but left it ajar. "Can I help you?" she asked politely, smoothing her surprised expression.

He was in black (again) but simpler, a plain shirt this time and plain jeans, no holes, no embellishments. "I need to ask you a favor, Frey," he said gruffly, showing no sign of apprehension at being in this "inner sanctum" of a female, but certainly not draping himself all over the place (as Nathanial was wont to do at the most inconvenient times).

She arched both eyebrows but didn't say anything else, closing her laptop and gesturing to a seat. He didn't take it and instead stood, looking at her and face as impassive as he could make it. But his body language read of faint unease, uncharacteristic of the somewhat forbidding upperclassman. When he finally spoke, it was with deadpan tones.

"I need you to go on a date with me."

"What?" Mara's eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her skull.

He gritted his teeth, turning his head. "My female relatives are visiting me. I need to assure them that I'm not sleeping with W, because suddenly they've got that idea in their heads."

Mara choked, turning red. He saw her expression and scowled. "No, neither of us swing that way," he said dourly. "But I need a 'nice girl' to show them just to assure the bloody harpies that I am straight or at least that I can- fulfill paternal duties."

"Oh no- I am _not_ sleeping with you," Mara said after she had regained some sort of dignity.

"I'm not asking for that," he said, looking at her like she was an imbecile. "Just one day, one date."

"Why me? Why not one of the Alfea girls?" she demanded. "This better not be some kind of joke that- that-" She couldn't even spit out names.

He smiled and it was like a winter storm. "I assure you, our dear Prince Gabriel Graywind was not behind this one. On my honor." He lifted his hand. Mara continued to look at him for a long, long moment. Then a flicker of light, a blink really, was at the corner of her eyes as well as the general sense that he was telling the truth.

"Fine, but why me?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Because you're likely to be sensible about it," he said, a little sourly but with grudging admiration. "Alfea girls will think that I'm actually interested in them and try to keep the charade in hopes that I actually may fall in love with them. Besides, you have some brains; there's more than air in there." He had such an irritated expression on his face, mingled with something ever so slightly plaintive, that Mara nearly shoved her fist in her mouth to stop from laughing. Luckily a blush stopped her from doing something nearly as undignified in front of poor embarrassed Bishop and she flushed from the compliment even as she inwardly preened. "I'll cover everything, or the harpies will," he continued, ignoring her blush and subsequent ducking of her head. "And if you have an extra price…" He trailed off.

She flapped her hand at him. "You're acting like I'm a courtesan," she said. Then she paused. "On the other hand, this is rather like a business deal…" She lifted her feet up onto her desk, leaning back in her chair. Surprisingly enough blushes didn't come by as often anymore.

He made a noise of impatience. "Well, woman?"

She turned her head to look at him. "What's the schedule then?" And she smiled slowly.

* * *

The day was cold and sharp, already foreboding. Mara tried not to think of the possibilities as dread filled her stomach, even as she finished up her exercise with Gareth, who had been uncharacteristically easy on her today in terms of a workout. _That_ had not helped at all as she had an uneasy feeling that he knew something that she didn't, something that had to do with today's events… She choked down breakfast as a bleak little voice inside told her that she was going to need the extra strength. 

"Mara, what's up with you?" Nathanial asked as he peeled an orange.

"Feeling a little sick?" inquired Gareth.

She shook her head. "No, it's just the weather." She smiled weakly. "I tend to get a little odd with weather…"

"Yeah. It's cold today," Andrei chimed in. "That's rather odd. It may even rain."

"Joyous," Mara muttered, gulping down her tea with the air of one making a last stand.

Indeed as she went out to the practice yard, the air smelled faintly wet and there was the tense silence before a storm in the atmosphere that made all hairs on the body rise and the muscles edgy. She shivered despite the relative warmness of her cloak and bodysuit. All the students got into formation at the approach of Codatorta and his aides. However, it seemed this time, they wouldn't be doing their typical routine of running and hand to hand.

The armsmaster had a grim expression on his face. "Today is evaluation," he growled. "We're testin' your abilities in battle. And to make things- _interestin'_, we're givin' you weapons. Random ones."

Mara caught Gareth's eyes. He gave her a faint but encouraging smile, even as he came up to Codatorta with an enormous jar of red glazed clay. "You're randomly selected," the armsmaster grated. "First one down or out of the ring loses."

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife and make into bricks as Codatorta stuck his raw hand into the red clay vessel and drew out what looked like two marbles, rough little painted balls with minute writing.

"Firs' match: Frey and Graywind." The words fell like a death knell. Mara's heart just about stopped there as Gabriel made his way from the crowd, immaculate, without a hair out of place. His eyes did not even look at her, as if she were not even worth his time.

She numbly accepted the weapon from the aide with muttered thanks as she made her way to the practice ring, traced by burned dirt into a circle about thirty feet in diameter. At the edges she shook the lethargy away, and the voice vanished mysteriously as she forced herself to face the situation. Her weapon was a stick, curved and polished and about the same length as her kendo _shinai_. She adjusted her grip on it; she would have to use the same approach she had with Gareth's first lesson in staff fighting. There was no use in adapting the staff style he extolled so much, considering the size and shape of her weapon. Gabriel's weapon was longer, straighter, but not still quite long enough to be a staff; he held his with two hands, much like her, going for a broadsword style.

A wind whipped through the crowd, rustling cloaks and tangling hair. Mara's own cropped mop fought the hairpins she had put it in firmly this morning on impulse. They both entered the circle, staring at each other. Mara refused to look away, refused to show any weakness, forgoing any intimidation tactics to establish a smooth, mirrored shield over her eyes and face.

"Bow," Codatorta's voice said, seemingly from a distance as she stared into Gabriel's mismatched eyes of black and silver. They stiffly saluted each other, not looking away. "And begin!"

They circled each other for a few moments, eyes never leaving each other. Mara struck, aiming a strike to his head before twisting sharply to strike his side. He only smiled and blocked her with unnatural speed. She skidded, just missing the black line of the circle. He was infuriating, circling about her, never truly attacking as she twitched in anticipation and strove to attack. She knew, distantly, that he was toying with her, that it was just a game of cat and mouse to him.

Throughout their battle she could hear the rumble of thunder, even above the murmurings of their audience, the other boys who stared at the battle, whether jeeringly or blandly. She could hear her breathing, starting to become labored now as she attempted to get some kind of score on him. Swiftly she blocked a blow, hilt of her "sword" up as he tried to slice across her ribs from the left (1). Then she went flying, eyes popping open as he slid his grip from the end of his weapon to the middle and thrust the butt of his sword into her abdomen, knocking the wind out of her. She got up quickly, breathing hindered now. That was going to leave a mark.

He slowly adjusted his grip again, challenge in his eyes as a smirk slowly played across his sensuous lips. She licked at her lips, waiting and he charged. He was nothing more than a blur and suddenly she went flying, her fingers and hands stinging like hell as her weapon went spinning to the ground. Gabriel was about to stand over her, blade to her throat when she kicked out, got him (by miracle) on a very sensitive part of his wrist, almost hard enough to snap a bone (or at least crack a bit of it), kicking _her_ weapon away with the other leg, bringing about her first leg to kick his legs out from under him. He fell with a very undignified "oof!" and she got up quickly enough to kick his weapon from his hands. Just when she was about to put her booted foot at his neck, he rolled away, knocking her down again.

The two of them got up at about the same time, staring at each other as they slipped into hand-to-hand stances. What happened after that was nothing more than a series of blows that were more than half-driven through anger and retaliation as they didn't pull half the time and in fact put in more power more than a few times. Soon enough Mara had a bleeding lip and another set of bruises on her stomach to join the mark of his weapon, not to mention a very spectacular black eyes, but she was grimly pleased to note that he was limping (not just due to a kick that had gotten to his instep) and she had gotten a few more cracks at his wrist.

But he only smiled at her, eyes unreadable yet mocking, doll's eyes. She tried to block him, tried to anticipate what the hell he was doing, but it seemed that he only moved a little- one, two, three, four, five blows to her body and a kick to her cheek to send her flying back, landing on the ground in a heap.

She tried to move, but she couldn't, could only try to grab the packed, dusty ground with her bleeding, bruised fingers as she could dimly hear Codatorta's judgment. Defeat. It welled up in her as she tried to stand, tried to regain some dignity. Blood was in her mouth; she could taste that coppery, salt sweet liquid, it was almost like defeat itself, wasn't it? The taste of blood reminded you that you _lost_, that you had your ass handed to you on a silver platter. It was bitter, just like defeat, acrid and warm and a slap on the face. Something was welling up in her eyes; she screwed them shut, trying of all things _not_ to _bloody let them go_… A drop of moisture fell on her face; she opened her eyes.

It was raining now; pouring rain from an overcast sky that was slate gray with clouds swirling about like the contents of a witch's cauldron, drenching them all. If anyone saw her dusty (now muddy), bleeding face with moisture suspiciously trailing from her eyes, she could pretend that it was just raindrops, even as Gareth and Thorne brought her to her feet, her arms draped over their shoulders, and helped her off to the sidelines.

* * *

Story Notes: 

(1) One of the _stupidest_ things to do in kendo. That block is suicide (leaving you open for hits to the head and throat, not to mention a good shove to the abdomen, like what happened to Mara).

* * *

Dear Readers, 

I appreciate each and every one of your reviews, those with praise or constructive criticism or just comments, from the bottom of my heart. And as a general rule, I do not believe in stupid questions at all.

However… Please, readers, do note these author's notes. In the future, if they seem too bulky, I will not add mailbag time. But do note others' comments as well as my own.

_Yes_, this is much like Tamora Pierce's work, "The Protector of the Small" quartet, in a girl being in a male dominated school. I have admitted it in the third chapter of this tale but have firmly pointed out I no longer read her because I am no longer fond of her style. I only say this after getting consistent recommendations/inquiries/etc. from my readers about said author. While I could not resist the notion of getting Mara's room trashed (from the series), that will be one of the very few references to that particular author, as I would like to think that Mara is quite different than Kel.

Just a little request upon that note: Kindly do not offer me recommendations. I have enough books to read and films/media to watch as is. I mean that with the humblest apologies and meaning no disrespect to you the readers. As for fiction requests/recommendations, I cannot address everyone's ideas because I do have to follow a certain plotline (in this particular fiction) and I do not have the liberty to follow every single show on television (no cable or time).

Onwards with mailbag (just placed at the end):

**_nukerjsr_**: Hello my friend! Yes, this one was an interesting chapter to write, considering the emotional highs and lows. I had too much fun developing my philosophy of the magical realm of Magix. I mean, witches have to have some sort of use within the world, otherwise they would have been obliterated long ago. The mirror will come back, though it's not nearly as sinister or integral as people think.

**_Shi Tsuki_**/laughs/ I know how you feel. It annoys the hell out of me but I keep on watching. I look forward to reading what you come out with.

**_Arlene_**: All things in good time, all things in good time… But I must say that her winx is already active (That's why she got dragged to the world of Magix). Or I prefer the term magic or mana.

**_Samika_**: That night is forever going to be a secret. What happens in party nights, _stays_ in party nights… And nope, no mirror world. It's not as important as people think, actually.

**_music nimf_**: Thank you. I'm flattered that people are actually analyzing this work, considering this was just a funny little thing I just happened to type up on my computer one day. Mara popped up one day and from time to time she's the one in the driver's seat, not me. Same thing with the other originals. They have minds of their own. Rather frightening, really. /laughing after getting drop kicked by a very angry Mara/

**_stormsight_**: I'm glad you like it so much and it's a relief to know that Mara's not a Mary Sue. Perhaps it's because she's emphasized as "not conventionally pretty" and the fact that she has to work for everything… as she did this particular chapter.

And thank you to all of you who reviewed, **Draciel Girl**, **Lita Maxwell**, **Zylia**, **tyfanatic64**, **Dude-Person**, **storywriter10791**, **BlueroseS.S**, **Story Weaver1**, **hillyhp2590**, **katara129**, **psychopath143**, **Tattooed Goddess**, **Curtis Zidane Ziraa**, and **Mallaidh**.


	8. Chapter 7: The Thing Inside

I'm so sorry everyone, for my lack of updates! I've been extremely busy with school and other things. But I know that's no excuse. I beg your forgiveness, my dear readers.

Oh, also a warning, this particular chapter will be somewhat… gory. It's not graphic but it's definitely not for the very squeamish.

* * *

Chapter Seven: The Thing Inside

* * *

"You don't have to beat yourself up about it," said Gareth, though not unkindly as Mara sat on her bed, glumly looking at the remains of the chocolate ice cream and cake he had brought her. She had the vaguely uncomfortable feeling in her stomach that warned her that she had overindulged in one of her vices, in this case, sweets, yet the creamy sweet taste of mingled royal icing and ice cream settled comfortably in her mouth as she sipped at the milk that he had (thoughtfully) brought along with the treat. He ran a hand through his hair. "Gabriel has been trained by masters of fighting since he was a child. He is also quite talented on his own…"

She punched the mattress. "I know! I know… It's just…" She sighed, pulling at her hair. "I've worked my ass off training with you… I mean- it was my chance to impress the monster."

"Hey, don't worry about it. But- were you expecting some- hmm… extra help?" he asked shrewdly.

She winced. "I- guess." She hated to admit it but she _had_ thought that she would smash Gabriel's smug face into the ground in their first fight. _I mean, this_ is _a tale world…_

Unfortunately, tales were tougher than she thought and she scolded herself for assuming.

"They're not going to kick you out for losing a practice bout, Frey, don't worry. We're just going to have to focus…"

"We may as well start right now then…" She stood up but Gareth walked over and gently pushed her back down.

"Easy, tiger. Take it one step at a time. Remember, it's not between you and Gabriel. It's you." His brown eyes bored into hers. "You've got it here-" he pointed to her head. "-and here-" he pointed to her heart. "-and here." He pointed to himself, irreverently grinning at her.

"We all lose at some point," he said and smiled crookedly. "And it's fine to be angry. To be honest, I don't blame you for wanting to get at that idiot. You picked yourself up and now you've let yourself cool down, enough we can get down to working on beating him, and everyone else here who follows him." He caught her surprised look. "He's not going to be the only one. And things are only going to get worse once you all get real weapons, the crystalline ones… Then the cracked wrist you gave him and this _lovely_ aura about your left eye will only be chicken scratches."

She flushed but asked rather acidly, "Does that mean I get to run with weights now? Or swim with alligators?"

"Nope." His eyes glinted. "We're just going to have to spar a little more often. And I think it's time I take you to town to meet my good friend and mentor."

* * *

Mara tugged at the collar of her black shirt, black boots rubbing against each other with the zippers rasping over the wrinkled leather. It was late, unusually so for someone the likes of _her_ going to town. But Gareth had pulled a few strings and had roused her from her homework before her nightly shower to go at this almost unholy hour.

"I'm surprised you managed," she said, glancing outside the tinted windows at the trees that popped into view and vanished equally quickly in their little moving circle of light.

He shrugged. "I'm an instructor and your sponsor. And this sponsor has a few extra perks." He swerved and she clung on as he zoomed into the outskirts of town, her face instantly turning white then gray as her legs clenched hard enough to wrinkle her once nicely pressed khakis.

"So… we're going to see the woman who taught you?" she ventured, remembering the beauty shop.

"Miss Ruri. Yeah. She's back in town. I think it's time for you to start getting an edge with weaponry."

She groaned instantly in response, and he coughed. "Sorry, inadvertent pun."

The night streets were still busy, with the ambience changing. Now it was the darker times, no longer with families and the curiously exotic beauties walking the streets. Those people at least had a tinge of normality, were mostly mundane with something just a little "off" about them. This was night life, where the dazzling artificial lights made even the tawdriest things beautiful and precious, made the world that much softer and more bewildering, when harsh sunlight would have only illuminated all the flaws.

Here paint did not make a difference on faces jaded in the daylight that had no mercy or pity. Faces became doll's masks yet all the more beautiful for it, when they would have been but plaster molds in golden sunlight under blue skies. False jewels and glittering metals, gold and silver and white and copper, gleamed all the brighter here, became prouder than their more elegant but richer distant relatives, as feathers and leather and fur adorned the figures of many, as well as lace, silk, and ribbons. The night softened these things.

But Gareth ignored these folk, the members of a nightly carnival, turning the car into an alley way just outside a block of fairly prosperous shops, parking. "Come on."

He caught her glancing at the passerby, especially a particular group that made cyberpunks and Gothic Lolitas and Gothic aristocrats of earth look like cheap knockoffs, eyeing the bright blue hair and perfectly pleated skirts and ornately embroidered frock coats that passed her by with something like envy, an emotion the instructor did not necessarily associate with his younger student. "I'll have to take you clubbing some time," he commented mildly, almost too softly for her to hear.

"Would you really?" She cocked her head. It would be rather… awkward to be going clubbing with a teacher, never mind he was not much older than her brothers.

He grinned crookedly. "I have connections here and there… You don't seem like part of the bump-and-grind set wearing strips of silk and heavy jewelry, so I think we'll be set." He locked the car. "But that's for another day."

Miss Ruri's shop was the same as ever, though curtains had been drawn one side as the mannequin continued to take care of an ever-changing hairpiece obliviously. She watched it for a moment, fascinated by the stiff white hands, but Gareth insistently pulled her into the shop.

It was black inside and Mara immediately went tense. The familiar smells of the place wrapped about her with thin wraith fingers, of roses, the acrid bite of hair spray, mineral water, and wet leather. The mixture ghosted over her, running cat like claws down the back of her neck.

"Gareth?" she said softly, having the uneasy and oddly funny feeling that she was in a hack horror film.

The lights turned on.

Gareth had been right by her all along but the room had changed. No longer was it a chic salon with mirrors and black and white checkered floor. It was softer, covered in slick wood paneling and wallpaper of rich forest green. Mara tensed slightly, taken aback as her eyes took in the brass and pale globe lights and the swirled furniture upholstered in the same velvety green as the wallpaper.

"Miss Ruri," murmured Gareth, bowing low. "It is a pleasure."

Mara whirled to face the woman suddenly in the room. She was tall and very thin but the epitome of the lush female curves of the Baroque era on Earth, breasts high and small, her waist narrow and curving into generous, shapely hips. All the better to suit her costume. She wore knee high black boots, softened with age but showing no sign of wear, into which breeches of a warm cream was tucked in. Her jacket was cut close to her body, a warm brick red that warmed her pale skin and glittered with gold braid and trim, fastened near her throat and falling no further than the top of her rib cage, revealing the expanse of a certainly very expensive white silk shirt that clung to her slim form like a second skin. A jabot of lace trimmed white silk fell from her throat, frothing above the fastening of her bolero jacket, fastened with a brooch with the design of some creature wound in a circle.

But besides her clothing, which absurdly reminded Mara of the old manga she used to read, all boxed away in the attic, her face was most striking. She was an odd combination of old and young, her face pale and Grecian, with high cheekbones and a broad forehead, her neck long and elegant. Her hair was pure white, fastened into a Grecian style of a chignon high upon her head with a simple band of thin gold hammered with the designs of flowers. But her eyes… They were large and almost doll like but frighteningly keen. They had the appearance of deep violet pools, of paint and melted amethysts that would cling to your fingers once you dipped into them, gleaming on your skin like a viscous liquid armor.

Her right hand was clad in a white kidskin glove, holding the brass handle of an ebony walking stick. The other hand was pale, unclad, and rather elegant, as though sculpted by the finest of artists.

She went to Gareth immediately and tilted his head upwards with a pale hand. Gently, she bent and kissed him softly on the lips. Mara could not help but stare. Gareth's eyes were closed and for once, he was passive, the gentleman at his lady's whims. But for all the affection in that kiss, the lady may have been asexual or an animated statue.

"It has been some time, my former student." Her voice was unusually deep for a woman, rich as chocolate and unexpectedly warm. "It is good to see you once more."

Gareth opened his eyes and smiled slowly. It was an odd smile, wry and affectionate and artificial all at the same time, also with a curiously uncharacteristic slyness. "I am sure, woman who taught me much of the world. But I am no longer a student and I believe it is time for the cycle to shift."

"You are still young to be a teacher of your own." She did not even glance Mara's way but quite easily showed her acknowledgement of the other female's presence.

"Agreed. That is why I come to you."

"And I thought you could not avoid my company." Her face had little humor in it however and her eyes slowly drifted to Mara.

"Mara Frey," she said slowly, as if tasting something new and not quite known. "My student was churlish enough to speak little of you. But he has told me enough that I believe I can start something…"

Mara swallowed and stood straight under the woman's scrutinizing gaze. "Yes, madam."

The woman's pale coral lips curved in a slight smile, an expression that was utterly neutral and utterly sensual. "Tell me then, girl. Why have you come here at your instructor's bequest?"

Mara opened her mouth then closed it, thinking furiously. _'There has to be a trick to this. I just know it…'_ She then said softly, "I wish to be strong."

She didn't see the blow coming until it was too late. Immediately she went flying, her ears ringing as she landed on the floor, flung out prone and stunned. Then pain exploded in her left hand. She let out a strangled scream as something vaguely knife shaped stabbed into her hand, into the fleshy part at the base of her thumb, near the web between the thumb and forefinger, ripping into the padded muscle. Through a haze of pain, she tilted up her head to look up at the now blurred face of Miss Ruri.

"Wrong answer," the woman whispered, grasping her walking stick, which was currently stabbing Mara's hand. She had the mercy not to twist the bladed tip but instead pulled it out, leaving a puncture wound deep within Mara's palm that bled profusely, leaving pools of bright red arterial blood upon the polished wood. Mara moved the tips of her fingers and gasped at the pain, stars exploding in her eyes. Gareth was immediately there, staunching the wound with a white cloth that swiftly turned red, even to her blurred vision.

Mara tried to breathe, kept on breathing. Miss Ruri looked on coolly. "It won't cripple you," she said. "As long as it's healed right. But girl, why do you want power?"

Mara, despite the scarlet and gray haze of pain over her, actually thought about it. Why did she wish to be strong? It was a vague sort of wish, goal, in the back of her mind. She had never thought about it before, never really asked herself the motivation. As she stared at the pale hands with the handkerchief that was swiftly turning red, she wondered vaguely, lightheaded already. Why did she wish to have strength? Why?

Was she truly oppressed? Did she need to defeat some evil in the world? What need did she have for strength, for power?

"I don't need strength," she whispered. "I need guidance. Guidance to use what I have. To make 'good' become 'excellent.' Please."

Miss Ruri crouched down nearby her, a blurred red and white figure. The pain was numbing already, fortunately but involuntary tears still welled in Mara's dark eyes, tears that she tried not to let fall.

The woman's voice seemed distant but was crisp. "Not what I expected. Not what I expected at all…" She seemed to regard Mara for a moment that was an eternity as the pressure on the injury eased slightly but was replaced again fairly quickly. "But perhaps that is what I needed all along…"

And Mara knew no more as her eyes drooped, those last words echoing in her mind…

* * *

Mara opened her eyes blearily, feeling vibrations under her and behind her. The pain in her hand was dulled now, faintly flaring every so often as it was jostled from time to time.

"You're awake." Gareth was in the driver's seat; they were in his car. Though it was dim in the car, the only light from the dashboard, Mara could see that he was dead pale.

"Yeah…" She looked down. Her left hand was bandaged.

"Look, I'm sorry." His voice was hoarse and unusually subdued.

"About that?" She laughed a little, though it was a weak sound. "I just had the wrong answer."

"I didn't know she'd do that. She didn't ever do that to me. I- understand if you don't want to go back there." Gareth had to keep his eyes on the road but he glanced at her and she could see that his knuckles were white.

"Are you kidding?" She struggled to sit up straighter. "I'm going back. If half your stories are true, then I want her as a fencing instructor."

"Dammit, Mara." He laughed hoarsely. "You're crazy, you know that? You're damn crazy."

"Of course I am," she retorted. She lifted her left hand, tried to move her fingers. "What's the damage, Gareth?"

Gareth kept his voice level. "She cut through the muscle, but luckily got between striations, and missed vital arteries and nerves. Barely." He turned and then cursed. "Dammit. I'm putting this on autopilot before I kill us both." He stabbed at a button and leaned back, letting out a long breath through his teeth, running a trembling hand through his hair. "We got the blood clotting properly and the puncture sterilized as well as the muscles knitting together. You'll be fine in a few days though you won't be using that hand for anything worse than typing or pushups for a while." His teeth gritted and he leaned his head back completely. Mara nodded slowly, moving her fingers slowly, testing them.

"I doubt Codatorta would really care though," she said lightly. "I still have to do sparring practice and now we have evaluation trials for weaponry."

Gareth growled. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

She glanced at him in slight surprise. Favoritism? That blatant kind of intervention was rather unlike her mentor. She searched his face for any sort of clue but he only leaned back into the shadows, his face shrouded and as impassive as stone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered after a while. "I am so sorry."

And Mara didn't know what to say except a soft "It's alright Gareth. It's alright."

* * *

True to his word, Gareth laid off her for a while as her hand healed. It was clear however that she would forever have a netting of pale scar tissue to mark the wound. Occasionally, her hand would go numb, forcing her to constantly massage and exercise her hand, making typing especially exasperating.

But she remained fairly cheerful to an extent that Gareth was baffled, and indeed, the rest of her classmates considered her with bemusement.

"I would think that most girls would be catatonic by having their hand impaled through by a walking stick," Nathanial commented dryly as he watched Mara pile ketchup on her sausages and fries.

She deftly cut a sausage apart with a knife and fork. "I would be if I wasn't lucky enough to have Gareth nearby," she said lightly. "It's healing just fine."

Bishop looked at her dourly and looked like he was about to lean over to her to look for himself but W beat him to it. With utter impunity, the red haired boy snatched at her wrist, exposing the now newly exposed palm to the rest of them, as she had just taken off the bandages. Mara glared, working her wrist free from his grip. But not quickly enough.

The table saw for themselves the new scar upon Mara's hand, a starburst of pale, pinkish flesh that was about as big as her thumbnail, slightly upraised on her palm, livid against her golden pale skin. Several pairs of eyes widened, however faintly.

Unconsciously, she rubbed at the newly made scar. "That's got to hurt," Bishop finally said, returning to his tea, dour as always. Nathanial shook his head, as if not quite believing what he was seeing. W applied himself to his juice studiously, quiet for once.

"What kind of a woman is your teacher, Gareth?" Thorne asked with wide eyes.

Gareth shrugged mildly. "A tough one, all adamant and steel. She hasn't come here for her own reasons but don't doubt that she's as skilled as any of the teachers here."

He leveled a long look at Mara. "And I hope she's sure of this."

"Madness runs in my family," she said lightly, biting into an apple. "And relax. It doesn't even hurt anymore."

"Then you're returning to exercises," Gareth said coolly. "I'm sure that you need to get back into shape after your little rest."

Mara met his eyes easily now, crunching on the crisp, tart flesh of her apple. "Bring it on."

* * *

Mara limped back to her room, her cropped hair so damp with sweat it was clinging to her skull, slicked back too stiffly to move. Gareth was good on his threat to "bring her back into shape" with practice with an impromptu thrashing in one of the practice rooms, especially testing her abilities to use the padded walls to rebound and counterattack. She had an interesting set of bruises near her tailbones where she had been unable to twist to absorb impact completely.

As she unlocked the door and was about to go in, one hand already on her shirt to strip it off, Bishop came walking up. "I'll drive you to Magix tomorrow," he said without preamble. "Get ready by ten."

"Anything else?" she asked, calm as you please.

His eyes averted; Mara realized just where her hand was. Quickly, she let go of her shirt hem. "Well?" she asked.

"Just- Never mind. I'll tell you tomorrow. Make sure you're covered, okay?"

He stormed off without another word. She blinked for a moment before shaking her head and heading inside. Immediately, she threw her shirt across the room, making it land neatly into her wicker hamper, padding to her bathroom.

A hot shower made her feel more alive and definitely drove most thoughts from her mind, leaving her with the odd serenity hot water pounding on one's back seems to give. She came out, rubbing her hair dry vigorously with a thick towel and going to her wardrobe in uncharacteristic determination. Now she turned to the softer fabrics, letting her calloused, scarred hands scratch over the silks and laces.

No, the rose camisole wouldn't do. The blue one dipped a little too low for comfort. She went through so many possibilities, wracking her brain for what Bishop's family looked for in a "nice girl" for their son, without going completely mad in front of them. Bishop, the idiot (she was rather uncharitable at the moment, hot shower or not), had been maddeningly vague about particulars, but certainly hinted what he _would_ like, in a girl.

She snorted in slight disgust, remembering the small list of notes stored on her PC. For all that Bishop was a perfectly intelligent, if a little too stoic, young man, he was infuriating in his dealings with women, managing to end his directions with a rather pathetic "There is a lot of room in between the lines; it's up to you." She just about gave up, picking out the black shirt she had worn for Miss Ruri's "lesson" (her khakis were still blood stained), when her hand touched satin.

She pulled out the dress, the thick material sighing and the crinoline beneath crinkling in a scratchy whisper. Looking around almost self-consciously, though no one was in there with her, she slid the straps off the hanger.

The dress fit well. She blinked in bemusement as she looked at herself in the mirror. Her waist had gotten smaller during her time here; the dress curved over it smoothly, without a pucker or fold. She did an experimental twirl, hands on her hips. However, her reflection frowned back at her and she put a finger to her lips, pursing them in thought.

Something wasn't quite right…

* * *

When she went down to Red Fountain's garage, she didn't quite expect anything other than Bishop lurking somewhere amongst the bikes and ships, probably in black, as always. But surprise, surprise… Gareth stepped out. "Where are you off to?" he asked, regarding her with a surprisingly familiar look.

She crossed her arms. "Out," she said matter-of-factly.

"You realize you need a chaperone." Gareth wasn't quite looking at her but she knew he was giving her a once over.

It wasn't often she wore feminine garb, not even in the pictures she had in her room. When she unbent enough to wear something like a dress, she had to put her own "personal" touch in it. The dress was left untouched; even in her craziest creative fits, Mara wouldn't have taken scissors to a single inch of the red satin. _Underneath_, however…

She had on a pair of extremely battered black jeans that barely covered the blunted points of equally abused black leather boots. Mismatched armwarmers, one of black lace and the other of black satin that ended in a point on the back of her hand, were roughly laced up her forearms. Upon an impulse, she had dug through her jewelry and found an old fashioned black lace and ribbon choker, to complete the ragged Victorian look, an imitation jet cameo dangling near the hollow of her throat set in black painted metal.

"Like Bishop and I will do anything." She shook back her slicked hair.

"So it's Bishop then… I need a talk with him anyways…"

She glared. "Har har." She tossed her hair back. "Look, he needed a favor so I'm giving him one."

Gareth's eyes narrowed at her. "Frey."

"Look, there's nothing in the rulebook that says I can't go with him in his car. I checked it. Twice."

He regarded her with another long look. "You're not supposed to be un-chaperoned."

"And Codatorta allows me to be with you right under his nose. You're not much older than my brothers, Gareth."

"That's different." But he looked satisfactorily rattled.

She sighed. "Look, now again, Bishop needs a favor from me. We're not going to do anything and I promise we'll be back soon."

He glared at her. "You realize that if Codatorta catches you…"

She shrugged. "He only said my room, Gareth. Nothing about a car. And having a chaperone is going to be a little difficult with this particular mission. If it makes you feel any better, we'll be chaperoned in town."

"But not on the way there and back," he noted darkly.

She shrugged. "Yeah, that'll be a new definition of car sex."

He stared at her. She sighed. "I live with two older brothers and a very earthy family tree, Gareth. I've heard the jokes."

"Frey." Both Gareth and Mara turned.

Bishop was standing nearby, neatly and simply dressed. Mara had to admit, as her eye trailed up and down his form, he was not as awkward in ordinary clothes as she thought he would be, though he obviously chafed at it, leaving his gray shirt partially opened and un-tucked into black pinstripe trousers.

"Good morning, Bishop," she said pleasantly.

Bishop stalked over to her, giving her a once over. And he grunted his approval, gesturing for her to follow him.

Gareth cleared his throat rather imperiously. "Both of you."

They turned to face him. Bishop kept a dispassionate face. "I assure you, I won't be doing anything," he said in an almost bored voice. "Just a familial obligation."

For a moment, something was shared between them, a spark or a glance. Gareth grunted, exhaling. "One of those, hmm?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Can't say I approve but- if anyone asks, I was there. Driving you both." He gave them both long looks. "I expect you to take care." The warning may have been for them both, but Mara caught her mentor leveling a slightly more edged look to her… escort.

Mara saluted him lazily as Bishop gently nudged her away. "Yessir!"

Gareth muttered something rather unflattering as he trudged off with a waved hand that implied a quite rude gesture. Mara had the sudden absurd thought that he was- jealous.

But that wasn't possible. Not Gareth. She instantly shook the thought from her mind as she got into the car, refusing Bishop's help rather absently.

* * *

Author's notes:

**SalanTron**g: Yes, she'll inevitably meet someone from Alfea. Several someones, in fact. /winks/ But I can't tell you for fear of revealing the rest of the story.

**Mulake Gyeiy**: …There's no chance she's going to be a fairy, I hope you realize. Because if she does, then the whole story has been for naught. As for those lovely Red Fountain boys… they'll be making their entrance. Specifically that our favorite resident "bad" boy, Riven.

**nukersjr**: Thanks for your usual round of reviews, sirrah. I try not to be philosophical or truly brutal in this fiction, to be honest. The story comes to me and I merely type it down as it goes. To be honest, Mara's writing the story herself.

**ArcherofDarkness and Callie**: Oh, any meeting with fairies will be _very_ amusing.

**Story Weaver1**: Domino is a strange fellow. Let's realize that.

**Elizabeth Hemingway**: Thank you. Like I say, I adore the world but I loathe the characters within it. Mara's a curious girl. She's grown on me, though she irritates me from time to time… Stubborn pig.

**Black Star5**: Oh, the fluffy stuff isn't over yet, I hope you realize. I'm a romantic at heart. Just you wait! And as for season two… I don't find it particularly compelling. Sure, Leila's cool, but she's not an interesting character in general… There's something about her that I just don't like at all.


	9. Chapter 8: Meet the Parents

* * *

Chapter Eight: Meet the Parents (And Reserve a Room at the Asylum)

* * *

"Let me do the talking," Bishop instructed her. To Mara's relief, he was more sedate in his driving than Gareth, shifting gears deftly and keeping to a speed that, while daring, left her more assured of her safety.

"Fine. Anything else?"

"You look nice." He determinedly kept his eyes on the road.

She blushed for a moment before smiling a little. "I never expected compliments from you."

He didn't scowl but certainly his expression grew fierce as he jerked the stick into a higher gear. "Not you now, I get enough of this from W."

"Small wonder those relatives of yours think you're dating him."

* * *

The meeting place was a small but chic café that was slightly set away from the normal traffic of town, enabling Bishop to get parking without being particularly vicious. Mara unconsciously ran her fingers over the slick material of her dress, shaking back her hair from her eyes. It was in a single moment she ended up meeting the upperclassman's eyes. Funny how she never realized just how expressive they could be; it was his luck in having a face that was rather like marble, carved brutally, brusquely, that frightened people away before they could even meet his eyes.

But it was just a moment in time, before he turned away and she shrugged. Her hands itched to draw suddenly, an inspiration she had not had for years, when she had thrown a monumental temper tantrum (a rare event, but spectacular, according to witnesses) with her last art teacher and had stormed out, paying for her last, wasted lessons with her own money. _That_ had set her back for at least a month in getting her favorite books.

A smile twitched around her painted lips however as she got out of the car to an awaiting Bishop. He escorted her stiffly, keeping a more than respectable distance from her (rather like one escorting the particularly contagious), and exasperated and half amused, she stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Look, if we're going to do this, we may as well go all the way," she said tartly, hands on her hips. "I don't have anything that can be caught."

He looked startled then smiled slightly. "I can see why W likes you so much."

"He likes me?" she snorted, threading her arm around his lightly. "That must be tough love."

"He's a bit of a misogynist," Bishop said with a shrug, responding to her gesture with little reluctance.

"Once again, I wonder why your relatives question you."

He elbowed her slightly. "You're as irreverent as he is."

"To make up for you, man of few words." She smiled at him though, as they approached the café.

"Wait until you see these harridans," he grumbled. "Then you'll see why I have such few words."

She stared at him, and then started to laugh. He glared at her dourly, the picture of affront. Mara futilely tried to stifle her giggles at the further source of amusement. It was just _amusing_ how the normally statuesque, icy Bishop became such a typical teenager, unbending enough to _complain_.

Then he relaxed enough to release his lips into something less than a frown. "You are impossible," he said.

"And that is being charitable," she said sweetly. He smirked at her, an odd glint in his eyes.

A smartly dressed waiter took them to a private parlor inside the café; evidently Bishop's family had more than little influence. Something inside Mara twisted a bit at this treatment but she pasted a pleasant expression on her face, reminding herself of her visits to her mother's side of the family.

The room was pleasantly lit and hung with soft gray and lavender, smelling faintly astringent and herbal. Throughout the entire time before, Mara had been steeling herself to expect anything, from strict matriarchs to older, female copies of heavy metal Bishop. The three women in there were neither. Two were middle-aged, easily Bishop's mother and the third was elderly, despite the fact she sat straight and gazed at everything with clear gray eyes.

It was easy to see where Bishop had gotten his harsh, chiseled features from, though on these women, it was somewhat subdued, not quite as oppressive (though the elderly woman had the most impressive jut of a beaky nose). The two middle-aged women had violet-mauve hair that showed no sign of graying; the elderly one had hair that was steel gray. They were all dressed plainly but elegantly, an unconscious cut to their clothes that bespoke of minimalist attitudes despite a rigid hierarchy, rather like military garments.

Bishop gently closed the door behind them and bowed deeply to them all. "Madam," he murmured, as he went to the elderly woman and laid a kiss on her hand, upon a metallic ring set with an enormous jet stone. Mara awkwardly waited, bobbing a sort of rough curtsey.

"If I may introduce Miss Mara Frey," Bishop said formally.

Mara bowed this time, murmuring something she hoped was at least vaguely polite.

One of the middle-aged women, a touch of roundness in her features, something that softened her, somehow, leaned forward and actually smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Frey." Her voice was rich and pleasant.

"I could say so, myself, madam," Mara answered formally with another little bow.

"Mara, this would be Madam Millicent, my mother's sister."

"Charmed, Miss Frey," said the woman next to her, thinner and with something like a hawk about her. She coolly appraised Mara, dispassionate.

"And this is my mother, Madame Brynhilda," Bishop continued.

Mara bowed again. "The pleasure is mine, Madame."

The last woman slowly leaned forward to peer at Mara rather nearsightedly, though her eyes were clever, shrewd and hardly senile. "And may I introduce the matriarch of the family, Dowager Savant Sophilde," Bishop finished.

Mara bowed, most formally this time. "Madam."

"Tell me, Miss Frey, are you of military family?" the Dowager said in a pleasant voice that held no hint of a quaver.

"Yes, madam," she said.

Despite the succinct answer, the Dowager seemed to settle for that, leaning back in her chair and starting to stroke at her enormous black ring.

They made small talk as tea arrived for them, a dark, complex blend that Mara identified as "gunpowder" blend, thankfully one of her favorites. The food that arrived with it was rather incongruous considering that this was a military-esque family, and these women not the type to be particularly prim. Again, though, deceiving. Delicate sandwiches proved to be made of spicy, thick ham and strong cheese. Cake proved to be a dense, rich bittersweet chocolate torte studded with walnuts. At this point, fortunately for Mara, she picked up on popular information in between her infrequent breaks, thanks to Gareth's wonderful information base and his frequent gifts of magazines and news for her. Once or twice she impressed them with one or two clever remarks made to questions obviously meant to trap a less educated or sharp young woman.

Bishop demurred on matters of title or world for her and his female relatives all leveled intense looks at him at that but settled back. Mara had to sharply nudge him once or twice as she reminded them of their "agreement" and the illusion they were creating. He was fortunately not too obtuse enough to show his surprise or puzzlement when she did such things as pour him tea from time to time. But their rather- professional mannerisms did catch his relatives' attentions.

"You certainly are… platonic in affection," one of the women said carefully.

Bishop noticeably stiffened in his seat. Mara coughed politely. "It is for the sake of public," she said brightly. "After all, too many young couples these days are wandering about-" She coughed again politely, twisting her napkin in her hands.

"Hmm… indeed."

She got up later, excusing herself for a moment. Bishop got up with her, suddenly putting a soft hand on her waist. She froze in place without realizing, turning her head to look at him. He nodded in the direction of the females, the tiniest of gestures, eyes dark. She leaned up a little, meaning to kiss him on the cheek. But either something shifted or he had something else in mind, and the kiss ended up being something she didn't expect as their lips met.

His lips were softer than she expected, warmer as well. They had a faintly bitter taste, reminding her of black pepper and sandalwood as well as the gunpowder tea that they had just drunk, but pleasantly unique, oddly suitable for Bishop, distant, technical, but oddly exotic and foreign. He kissed her gently, almost affectionately, and after a seeming eternity, they drew away. Mara was aware that her breathing was a little deeper and her heart pounding in her ears.

"Hey, I'm not leaving for long," she whispered.

He smiled a pale ghost of Nathanial's confident smirk. "I know." And he sat down again, calm as you please.

The women looked somewhat more mollified though Mara caught the Dowager leveling a glance at her that looked rather- calculating.

When she returned, it seemed as though things were closing up. Bishop was making his formal farewell and Mara luckily only had to bow and murmur a farewell of her own to them. Millicent gave Mara an affectionate kiss on her cheek, after giving Bishop a slightly more familiar one (to his resignation), and Brynhilda smiled, squeezing Mara's hand with her slightly clawed one, after giving a surprisingly loving hug to her son.

The Dowager on the other hand... "I like you, Miss Frey," she said as she slowly got to her feet, using a silver topped cane. "I do hope that we meet each other again, miss. You are a good complement to my grandson, even if his affection isn't already for you."

She bowed low to the old woman. "Thank you, Madam."

"Enough of that." She extended a small plaque to Mara, a pewter etched plate. "May you go far in your endeavors and your strength."

Mara took it with both hands. "Many thanks."

* * *

The drive back was quiet as Bishop's techno music blared from the stereo garishly. She snuck glances at him as she undid her hair, letting it fall from its already precarious style, shaking it out and letting it puff about her face. He seemed stoic as always.

She turned the plate in her hands slowly. It looked rather like a data plate, albeit bigger than it should be. The metal gleamed coldly, her fingertips tracing along many intricate, geometric etchings along its length, a curious monogram in its center surrounded by intricate inlaid designs of gold brass.

"You made a good impression on them. Especially my grandmother. If anything else, they're pleased that I have some female company," Bishop finally said.

"So are they convinced that you're not gay?" she asked with a laugh.

"That's up for debate," he said sourly and she laughed louder.

As her laughter died down, she indicated the plate she held. "What did the Dowager give me anyways?"

"I'm surprised that she gave one to you. It's a key to some of our holdings, an invitation of sorts. She wouldn't mind seeing you again."

"How very kind of her."

"Well, I don't get along with girls- or anyone else for the matter, as well as they think I should," Bishop said gruffly. "I prefer my privacy."

"Nothing wrong with that," she said with a shrug.

"Not for a man who may have to marry for an alliance, whether we like it or not, if only to sire a child," Bishop said surprisingly frankly.

"You mean marry one of the girls at Alfea?" she ventured.

"Yes." He stared ahead. "I know some upperclassmen who entered state marriages the minute they graduated from Red Fountain. Most of them were lucky; they knew their prospective brides throughout their education and got to know each other at least somewhat comfortably if not fall in love. Others weren't so fortunate."

"You're being surprisingly talkative, Bishop."

"You're easy to talk to." Once again, that shocking, rather verbose bluntness.

She blinked, taken aback. "Oh?"

He turned his head to offer a thin smile. "You're easy to overlook by the casual eye, meaning no offense. It's almost like talking to myself. But I know that you're actually listening, unlike some girls who just stare and nod. When you nod, you-" He stopped in mid-sentence. "It's hard to describe."

"I understand."

"You see?" He let out a surprisingly rich chuckle. "I don't know what to make of you, you know that? Poor Thorne hasn't got a clue about you."

"Thorne can be as obtuse as his namesake," she said rather sourly.

"Take it easy on the guy; he hasn't been raised with the pack of girls that Nat and I have. W knows my family so he's better than the rest. And Marcus has that twit of a teacher Andrei."

"Don't let Andrei hear that," Mara said with some amusement.

Bishop grunted, looking away. The rest of the time was quiet as Mara listened idly to Bishop's choices in music. Most of it was techno but he had a good deal of rock as well, especially emphasizing guitar solos. She wasn't too surprised.

By the time they got back, he stopped the car but didn't get out right away. "Thank you," he said after a long moment as the last song died away.

"Don't worry about it, I got a free meal out of it," Mara said jokingly. "What's a favor here and there?"

He shot her a sideways look. "You don't have to keep up the act now," he observed dourly.

She laughed, pulling up a leg to her chest and not caring that she was wearing a skirt. "I'm crazy to the point of having multiple personalities. I'm not the harsh, super focused ice bitch _all_ the time."

He reached over for her. But he only touched her lips, softly. "Shut up," he said simply. She turned her head to face him better but he only looked at her for a few more seconds before getting out. She slid out of the car before he could get to her side, nearly running into him.

"You're crazy, you know that?" he said, inadvertently holding her elbow.

"I think we've established that by now," she said carefully. And he smiled.

"Thanks," he said simply and kissed her again. It was a chaste kiss that was warm and tender. When they parted, they both were smiling.

"You're sweet, Bishop," she said affectionately.

"And you're impossible, Frey," he returned, the smile reaching his violet-gray eyes. "But you've got a good heart." He ruffled her hair with impunity.

"I got your back," she laughed.

"I got yours too." And he slapped her on the shoulder with all the warmth that he showed to W, platonic but no less sincere. Mara didn't mind that. Not at all.

* * *

A/N: So Mara doesn't have a romance yet. Ah well. But she and Bishop are an unholy duo, I can assure you that. They both have the same dry humor.

I'm terribly sorry for my lack of updating. School's been very stressful to me and I've suffered writer's block as well. And I've been suffering some self-doubts about Mara. I love her a lot and I will admit that many aspects of her are based on me, especially her sense of irony and her sense of style, though she's a lot more gung-ho than I am and she's in better shape. That's why I've been rather unsure. I do make sure to entertain you, my readers, thus I must stop to pause to consider what you think of her and the storylines, including this possible relationship with Bishop.

Do not hesitate to add constructive criticism; if anything, Mara's been an excellent exercise in character development and originality and Under Shadowed Wings is an ongoing project.

Wind to all of your wings, my readers!

P.S. Did anyone realize that there was a Witch Hunter Robin and a Vampire Hunter D at the party in the Halloween episode of the Winx Club? How sneaky.


	10. Chapter 9: Do Earthlings Dream of Le

* * *

Well, no worries of an early romance, my readers, for indeed, Mara and Bishop are too platonic for comfort. It's easier to see them rocking out than making out, isn't it?

* * *

Chapter Nine: Do Earthlings Dream of Levitating Sheep?

* * *

Gareth returned to his normal bossy self as it turned out that Bishop and Mara were nothing more than good friends. He still leveled long looks at the boy however, even as Mara kicked at her mentor under the table sharply quite a few times. She then confronted him rather vocally. 

"What is going on?" she demanded after one of their practices.

They both were sweaty and bruised. He had been particularly hard on her, in complete opposite of his odd cosseting, and she had been so frustrated that she had not pulled most of her punches or kicks. He was starting to favor his left leg; she had a swollen right wrist.

She leaned against a rock, glaring at him through eyes that were blinking involuntary tears of pain away.

"I'm your mentor," he said sharply. "Enough with it. Come over here."

"No." She tilted her chin up mulishly at him. "Not until I get an explanation, Gareth."

He gritted his teeth; she could actually hear the teeth grinding against each other. "Look. The princes- the heirs of Bishop's family aren't well thought of," he said finally, glaring at her.

Mara's jaw dropped. "That's it? And since when did Bishop inspire such talk?"

"Not Bishop!" he snarled. Then his bad temper subsided and fell in on itself as he sighed. "It's not quite like that."

"You haven't covered his realm yet," he said, putting away their weaponry. "But he lives in a severely matriarchal and militant society… Bishop is treated like many girls in the realm: marriage bait."

"It didn't seem that way," Mara murmured.

"Luckily the ruling family has learned to relax some traditions," Gareth said uncharitably. "But- Bishop's father- there was an incident."

"Look," Mara snapped. "Why did you even let me go with him then?"

"Even I can't bypass royal events," Gareth retorted back. "He's royal, I'm only noble!"

Mara said something rather rude in return to that. Gareth looked ready to pound her to the ground. She didn't care.

"Whatever then!" she snarled. "But blood doesn't mean anything! It doesn't! Bishop's not whatever bastard his father was or his grandfather or any male member of his family! If anything, I wouldn't be surprised if he _did_ turn out like them just because everyone expects him to be like them!"

Gareth looked as though she had just splashed him with a gallon of ice cold water. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I- I want to protect you."

"I have enough of _that_, thanks!" she snapped, hardly mollified. "I have two older brothers, both going to military school, and both of whom have made it quite clear that their little sister is not to be touched!"

"You don't know what these boys can do!" Gareth shouted. "Red Fountain's _still_ reeling from the last disgrace, when Bishop's own _brother_ was expelled and convicted!"

Gareth's chest heaved and his eyes were wild. He ran a hand through his auburn hair, the fingers trembling. "I saw it happen," he said softly. "I was doing an elementary internship here when I was ten years old.

"Bishop's elder brother was nothing like the younger. He was charismatic and charming, nothing like our brooding Bishop. The only thing was- he hated girls. He loathed them. It seemed more like a quirk but- it wasn't that." Gareth took a shuddering breath. "His name was- Cardinal. He was poised on becoming one of the best specialists this school had seen for decades, even rivaling the King of Arachlion, one of the notable graduates. Until one night.

"I was doing some cleaning and went to his room because his roommate had asked me to bring a book. I found the girl that Cardinal had been torturing for his entire term at Red Fountain and she was- mindless. Do you know what he did to her? He twisted her. He made her hate herself and love him with all her heart. He controlled her so fully that she would be kneeling with string- common string- around her neck, her wrists and her ankles holding her and she would not move. They expelled him. And he didn't care. Not for one second. He was laughing as they took him away."

"What happened to him?" Mara asked softly.

"He was found dead a couple days later," Gareth said flatly. "He was tied in the same position he had tied that poor girl in. The only thing that was relatively untouched was his face. Only enough so you could recognize him."

"Did they ever find who did it?"

"Not really. Especially because the girl he had tortured was from a royal family, the heir, in fact, to the throne. She was a salutatorian of Alfea and no one knew what he had been doing to her for all two years of his term. Quite frankly- I think it was for the best. He would have been exiled, probably; some unsavory characters come from Bishop's part of the universe, including some of the nastier witches, but we couldn't do much, other than expel him and turn him over to the authorities."

"So you think that Bishop's going to do that?" Mara said, looking at Gareth with accusatory black eyes.

"You never know," he said helplessly, flinging up his arms to the heavens. "I can give you a rap sheet that's longer than the road to Cloud Tower for the entire male side of his family."

Mara snorted ungraciously. "And where were the females during all this? And their reputation?"

Gareth's lips quirked. "Those women can make black white if they wanted to, I promise you. Everything's always swept under the carpet."

"Bullshit."

Gareth sighed. "If only. If only."

"And to think that I thought there may actually be justice in this world," Mara muttered.

Gareth looked at her. "Nowhere is there a place where true justice always prevails," he said quietly. "Not without pain or sacrifice. For we are all flawed."

"I know that." The heat was finally gone from her voice. "But that doesn't mean we can suspect everyone. Because how can we then try to bring justice?"

* * *

Nathanial, of all people, was paired up with her for her newest school assignment, a geographical and historical report. She was rather apprehensive about the entire matter. For all that Nathanial defended her in front of Gabriel at the first party of the year, jibed with her regularly, and was nothing less than friendly, he was unsettling and she could not find it within herself to trust him fully. 

She had completely relaxed around Bishop now and began to welcome W as well, as she played the unknown variable in the relationship between the two boys, sometimes interjecting W's nastier jibes, sometimes wickedly prodding Bishop as a follow through. Neither of them minded and she suspected that once or twice, she smoothed over what would have been a nasty confrontation later. W still cracked filthy jokes in front of her and Bishop still was stoic as a marble statue, but they were comfortable with her and quite visibly cared for her, in their own unique ways.

Now Nathanial was another story.

What to say about the mock serious boy who was currently sitting across from her, brow slightly furrowed as he flipped through a book? He tapped an absent rhythm on the table with his brown fingers, still looking like a fashion plate, despite a very long day. For once, though, he didn't look like he was going to charm every female within a hundred yard radius with pheromones alone.

Mara was a sucker for a pretty face and she had to admit, the prince of Popularus was not particularly hideous. And damn him, he had to have the exotic yet particularly handsome features her eyes always fixed on! She cleared her throat to get his attention, watching as his white-haired head bobbed up from his book. He blinked languidly at her with his odd gray eyes, silvery gray with a hint of orange to it, like smoky crystal reflecting flames.

"Do you have any idea what we're going to cover?" she asked bluntly.

He stretched languidly. "Well, Popularus is out of the question," he quipped, stifling a yawn.

"As you are its prince," she agreed, sitting by him and blatantly ignoring the jibe. She pondered the list of systems and planets and dimensions, automatically crossing out several.

"How about Earth?"

"What?" She looked at him in surprise.

"I think it will make an interesting report," he said with a cheeky smile. "Especially if we can connect it with those themes of cyclical violence and peace that we've been covering."

"Is Earth even valid? Even if I wasn't from there," Mara pointed out.

He deftly stole the list from her, skimming it. "It's here." He pointed the name out triumphantly with a brown, elegant forefinger. "And it would be valid for you to do a report on it."

"Because I'm not of royal blood?" she asked ironically.

His lips quirked. "Oh, sour are we?" he teased.

"Not at all," she retorted. "Since royal blood seems to be _so_ common in this dimension."

"Touché!" he laughed. "Actually, you'd be surprised at the number of those _not_ of blue blood attending here."

"Oh?"

"Squires," he said promptly.

Mara scowled at him. "So much for equality," she snapped. "Let's just start the research, shall we?"

He saluted her lazily. "As you wish."

Damn him.

* * *

If the thought of doing a group project with Nathanial Valeron was infuriating enough, weapons trials were now finally in session. Mara found herself in more intense practices with Gareth now, in which he forced her to be one step ahead of him, lest he punish her swiftly for any mistakes. He was drilling her in almost every weapon he dared think of, discarding them at will. 

She found herself using a two-handed sword, a hand-and-half sword, scimitars (single and pair), knives, mace and flail, battle ax, war hammer, quarter staff, sword and knife, and rapier, even going as far as to dabble in those weapons that weren't quite conventional, including bugnuks (1) and whips, all of them either padded models of the actual weapons or weakened, multi-purpose crystal blades meant for novice use. Luckily Gareth caught on fairly quickly on her strengths and weaknesses. The rapier was far too light for her and she wasn't up to the acrobatics of the art, which meant bouncing around like a squirrel in the combat area for most of the battle. There was no way that she could effectively use the two handed sword and battle ax, which were too heavy for her and cumbersome to her movements. She was mediocre in most others, passable in knife fighting and morning star, but best suited for the paired scimitars and sword-and-knife fighting.

Gareth discarded those weapons obviously unsuited for her but would occasionally give one of her passable weapons in between practices, to keep her flexible. His flexibility with styles and weaponry was astounding, in and of itself, as he personally knew how to use each of those weapons, enough that he could face off respective fighters. But that, he admitted fairly freely, was a weakness as well, as he had no particular great strength in one style, just preferences.

The weapons trials were more than simple experimentation, as Gareth explained. They could be used against any student, as an assessment of ability. Codatorta would not hesitate in "evaluating" her with the trials, even before her midterms.

"Ridiculous," Mara muttered darkly.

"Believe it," Gareth answered, looking rather irritated, though not necessarily with her. They both had bruises on their arms and hands. "Trials assure of your sticking to a weapon. Which means fights."

"Damn," she swore.

"Plus, we can only have so many per class, which means you better adapt quickly to what you want as your primary weapon," he continued.

Mara picked up her knife and blade again. "Then let's continue," she said grimly.

* * *

The trials started on a rather bright day, with the freshman divided into smaller groups within one of the main practice yards. After a cursory warm-up (at this point, they were expected to do their own stretches), they were divided further and given specific weaponry assigned to their groups. The first weapon Mara received was the battle axe and she found herself against a classmate she vaguely remembered seeing but never really talking to, a lean, saturnine fellow with aqua blue hair and bright black eyes named Jekell. 

He looked about as suited for it as she was; they both exchanged long ironic looks even as they bowed to each other over the weak, shimmering blades of their weapons. It was a friendly fight; both were smart enough to realize that under the shrewd eyes of instructors that there was no bowing out of anything less than a full-out battle. He was slightly better at her, however, and it wasn't with much regret she forfeited the match with his blade at her throat, grinning rather wryly at him. Jekell grinned back at her with the same sentiment in his eyes, reddish tattoos on his face stretching.

"Pleasure bouting with you, Frey," he said as they shook sweaty hands after the bout.

"A pleasure," she returned. "I hope you find your suited weapon soon!"

They shared another grin, this one not quite as ironic as he echoed the sentiment.

The next weapon was scimitar, single, which she welcomed gratefully. Sadly, her opponent wasn't the sport that Jekell was, not to mention not even touching her in skill with the curved blade. She grimly blocked all his attacks with her crystal blade; easily, but not jeeringly, yet with no small sense of satisfaction, she disarmed him. He glowered at her, looking down at her from his rather gangly height. She gave him a gimlet glare of her own, bowing stiffly.

The first day of trials ended with a quarter of the class situated in their individual weapons' classes and a great deal of bruises and cuts for all.

Nathanial had already been assigned to rapier group, much to the disgust of the rest of them, even mild mannered, sweet Marcus, who had the misfortune to have gotten hit by the wrong end of a staff and had an enormous, spectacular black eye. Thorne was nursing a bruised nose; he had fallen flat on his face and ended up with a rather nasty bloody nose that had taken him out for a minute.

Mara was just uncharitable.

The second day ended with Marcus being assigned, of all things, to _naginata_ (2) and quarter staff. And to Mara's profoundest relief, she was directed to the sword and knife group with minimal injury and reluctance. It was rather anticlimactic, but fortunately, she wasn't anywhere near Gabriel, who had been put into one of the more traditional sword groups. Poor Thorne had to wait until the last day of trials before being put into whip work and shield fighting.

They all celebrated that weekend, Gareth and Andrei charitably dragging the celebratory freshman (and mentors) out to the downtown to exult over one of the milestones of their studies at Red Fountain.

* * *

Andrei was perky as ever, dragging everyone along and making a kitten with one too many cups of coffee seem positively somber indeed. Marcus looked rather strained as his mentor had him by the hand and of all things _skipped_ around. 

Mara tried not to laugh before Bishop thankfully saved the slight boy from the instructor's exuberance. Andrei pouted a bit but turned his attentions elsewhere. It would only have clinched the image if Andrei had chosen particularly… flamboyant clothing, but no, the blue-haired instructor was deceptively demure in a soft blue shirt and dark khakis, twirling a rather stylish black hat in his hand. He even had black leather spats (trimmed with brass buttons) on his shoes, overall a rather dapper figure.

The rest of the group was in their respective casual outfits, of t-shirts and jeans and wife beaters and combat boots. Some were more stylish than others (Nathanial and Gareth), some more original (W and Bishop), but all in all, it was quite an array. Mara had to admire the view, if only for a moment. She herself was an androgynous figure, for with her last growth spurt, the rest of her more… feminine attributes did not catch up. Perhaps it didn't help that she was twice as athletic as she used to be.

Finally her violently pink hair had faded away, leaving her with subtle reddish highlights in her naturally pitch black hair. Nathanial had delighted in teasing her about the pink, not to mention W, in that odd way he flirted with girls (a fact she learned later). Her hair grew rather slowly, however, and she was left with her rather cropped style that had a tendency to go every which way at the worst possible times, like this time.

"Dinner first," Gareth said, stopping Andrei in his tracks. "Then we can indulge in clubs."

"Got a new boy toy?" taunted W upon seeing Andrei's rather irritated face at that declaration.

"At least I get to play, brat," the instructor retorted smoothly.

Mara grinned, exchanging looks with Nathanial, who looked just as amused as she was. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging at it and attempting to make it behave for a moment. After a rather entertaining battle between W, Andrei, Gareth, and Nathanial, they finally agreed on a restaurant and got there with little trouble, managing to squeeze into a booth and becoming even better friends in the process. Mara found herself wedged between Gareth and Nathanial, not necessarily the most uncomfortable of places, considering the alternatives.

Dinner was rather enjoyable, not unlike their meals back in the school cafeteria, though decidedly more energetic as W squirmed around to avoid Andrei at all costs, squeezing the rest of them further. They almost lost poor Marcus, who had to clutch onto the rim of the table, nearly toppling his drink over, to prevent from being lost under Thorne's gangly frame. Nathanial and W had a flirting competition during and after dessert and to the red-haired boy's disgust, the prince of Popularus got the most numbers from passing girls. But in amiable spirits, they sorted through their amassed treasure and occasionally swapped numbers with each other.

After dinner activities were hotly contested. Bishop and Marcus had no intention of going to a dance club (Bishop glared at them, as though just daring them to ask him why he refused; Marcus flatly to take one step). Andrei was insistent on it. Nathanial only exacerbated matters by teasing Bishop and W and playing a relentless devil's advocate, until Gareth, Mara, and Bishop simultaneously hit him to get him to shut up.

They managed to come to a compromise. They would go to a dance club, but not one of the exclusive ones, with activities for those who weren't so inclined. Gareth, from his curious way of getting just the right information at the right time, found them one. Rank had its benefits, Mara grudgingly admitted as Nathanial simultaneously bullied and charmed his way into the crowded club for them all.

At that point, they split up, with Nathanial accompanying Andrei and Gareth onto the dance floor, and Bishop, Marcus, Thorne, and Mara headed upstairs with W reluctantly trailing behind them. But he decidedly perked up at the healthy number of girls in the lounge above the packed and wild dance club below.

They divided further. W went for the first group of girls he could find. Marcus got something to drink along with Thorne. Bishop and Mara amused themselves by dueling it out in front of a dance machine. To think, DDR in this dimension! They were rather evenly matched though she grudgingly admitted he had more flair for it, being able to do hip hop style moves while getting arrows on beat.

Thorne and Marcus were kind enough to ply them with cold drinks afterwards, though the appreciative audience the dancing duo had garnered would have been more than happy to serve on them hand and foot. Then Bishop drifted off, to prevent W from being slapped by a girl in an astonishingly tight and abbreviated dress that looked like gold painted chain mail. Upon seeing said girl being quite enthusiastically embraced in a hardly platonic manner by another in pale blue, Mara was glad that W was dragged away in time.

She fell back in a white vinyl floating chair, watching everything go on for once, letting her eyes have their fill. The lounge was tastefully decorated in dark blue and silver, with an outdoor patio/balcony and skylights. There was a dance floor for those who sought a refuge from the bump/grind downstairs but weren't satisfied by the game consoles and seats around the place. A bar churned out rather tasty looking smoothies and drinks of impossible colors. Curtains of layers of near transparent silk just barely shielded niches and private rooms; Mara had an idea that they weren't just for privacy to "talk," unless "talking" entailed single word phrases and bodily sounds.

She observed her classmates with interest and no small amusement. Bishop was playing wingman to W in between rounds at a shooting simulation game. Thorne was trying his own luck at the DDR machine. Marcus was trapped in conversation with a girl who looked far too young to be in here, all golden curls and china doll face with a dress of lace and ribbons. Judging from the boy's blush, however, it seemed as though he wasn't in any dire need of rescue, at least from any literal danger.

She leaned back in her chair, suddenly feeling one of her rare, rather uncharacteristic fits of melancholy that nevertheless occasionally plagued her. It had just occurred to her just how different she was here, as she watched the others. It was as though she was on the outside, hands placed on a glass barrier, watching them interact in their world.

She didn't have much time to brood over that any longer however as Gareth made his way up, to the appreciative looks of the girls in the lounge. He was a young Grecian god, as usual, his auburn hair lightly curled and trailing down his shoulders to gleam burnished copper against his black shirt. A slight smile crossed his face at the attentions of one or two of them.

As he came near to her, she arched an eyebrow at him. "Passing up a date with those girls for little old me?" she asked sardonically. She pointedly ignored venomous looks coming her way.

"Why should I, when I have you?" he asked in return.

"You hurt those butterflies," Mara murmured.

He shrugged, as one who was accustomed to being admired for his good looks could only do. "I'm so glad you respect their feelings so."

The girl glared at him. "Don't be so flippant!" she snapped. "Not everyone's lucky to be born pretty, you know."

"I never knew your love for fairness ran so deep. But that aside… Will you grace me with a dance downstairs?"

"Andrei and Nathanial not enough for you?"

"They separated from me almost immediately. Andrei's flirting with the bartenders and waiters at will. Nathanial's trading off with some guy from Arachlion. Also, would _you_ consider dancing with your cousin?"

Mara considered the offer and shrugged. "I don't do the bump-and-grind."

"I know. I remember." He grinned at her. "Shall we?" He offered her his hand. She declined, getting up on her own.

* * *

Mara found herself toddling slightly out of the club some time later. She was supporting a very tipsy Andrei and was followed soon behind with Bishop dragging Thorne behind him and Marcus stumbling after. Gareth was relatively sober, though she caught him blinking rather dazedly from time to time, enough to haul Nathanial and W and walk in a straight line (most of the time). 

"Who's going to drive?" she asked, looking around. She hadn't drunk anything, ever since her most recent experience with Popularus Paradise and she figured that Bishop hadn't had anything. Thorne and Marcus had the constitution of guppies, on the other hand, and were positively tipsy. Mara had heard something about a particularly persuasive barmaid in the case of Thorne and she suspected that the china doll Marcus had been with was not quite a little angel…

Andrei and Nathanial of course, were drunk as lords, with W joining them. Bishop had protested when she had shot him an exasperated glare, saying that W disappeared and had reappeared, drunk and belligerent.

"I guess I will," Bishop said, even as Gareth opened his mouth. "You're drunk, Gareth."

Gareth glared and was about to say something scathing before Mara interjected, "He's right, you know. I don't want to crash, Gareth." Gareth kept his mouth shut and stopped Nathanial from walking into a pole just in time.

The ride back was fortunately a quick one and Bishop was a competent pilot, not that Mara doubted his abilities. Somehow-Mara never really remembered after that night-everyone got back into bed in one piece and with the minimum of mishaps. Mara finally fell into her bed, half-dressed. And found that she couldn't sleep.

She stared up at the dark ceiling, after futilely closing her eyes and opening them again half a dozen times. Though she was exhausted, sleep wouldn't be coming to her tonight, it seemed. She remembered the club, dancing with Gareth. Her eyes slipped closed. Girls had interposed between her and Gareth; she even vaguely remembered a boy or two as well. She sighed, hardly begrudging her mentor. What had she to gain with the attentions of girls and boys?

Nothing.

She even laughed a little when girls had given her dirty looks, just for her presence by Gareth. It had only gotten worse when she loaned him a hair tie. These girls had nothing on- She didn't bother to grace _that_ thought with more than half a second.

Her thoughts then drifted to Gareth's remark about her desire for fairness. She bristled at the thought of being compared to an upholder of justice… It wasn't as though she was going about waving a cross and bellowing religious tracts; not that she had much passion for religion to begin with. But she had meant her words to Gareth, every one of them. Gareth was a good man; she already could trust him with her life, but- he could so easily become one of _them_, those who disregarded the world not fortunate to be blessed with beauty. This world was harder than Earth, for she was only a plain, blossomless plant in a greenhouse of the most exotic flowers in the world.

In between her odd musings, she slipped asleep and thus dozed peacefully until harsh knocking on the door shattered her castles in the air. She turned and felt nothing beneath her. Her eyes opened sharply and she fell. Four feet onto the floor.

"Ouch!"

Gareth looked in to see a very irritated, very bewildered Mara rubbing at her head and posterior. Until he realized she was in little more than underwear and a faded shirt and prudently shut the door until she got dressed.

* * *

**Notes:**

1. Bugnuks (or technically, "bagh nakh") are an Indian weapon, roughly translated to "cat's claws." They consist of a metal bar with a set of curved metal "claws" that are placed in between the fingers, so that when the wearer makes a fist, the claws poke up between the fingers. Bugnuks are the real life equivalent of Wolverine's claws.

2. _Naginata_ is a term for the Japanese glaive, a long spear-like weapon that is usually with a pole that is about five feet long with a slender, leaf shaped blade about a foot long.

**Gratuitous Author Babbling (GAB):**

I was re-watching some of the episodes of Winx Club, including the episodes in Cloud Tower and realized how trite they made the witches. It annoyed me, not just because I'm a Goth myself and part Wiccan, but at how they attempt to differentiate witches from the Cloud Tower sort to the Unholy Trio of Trix sisters. Witches are rather petty, other than the formidable Professor Griffin (who I actually admire to an extent) and it irks me greatly. But I suppose I shouldn't be so irritated; it's a kid's cartoon after all…


	11. Chapter 10: The Variables of Chaos

* * *

Chapter Ten: The Variables of Chaos

* * *

"Is levitating usual?" Mara asked Gareth on their usual run around the grounds. She was long accustomed to Gareth's exhausting runs, though he continued to extend the distance, seeming to want her short of unconsciousness after their workouts. It was "good for her," according to him. Mara privately thought it was Gareth exercising his sadistic side. 

"It depends," Gareth said frankly. "It's happened to me once or twice, typically from nightmares but- ah- how to put this right?"

"Dreams," Mara said tartly. "Of the erotic kind I'm sure."

Gareth looked uncomfortable. "Well- yes."

"It's good to know that you're actually male. I was beginning to think you were a eunuch."

"Excuse me!"

Then Mara had to run for her life as Gareth bolted after her, fury on his face.

* * *

"This style," began the teacher. "Is one of the most difficult and nastiest of the fighting styles." 

He paced before the small group of first year students in the rather cramped practice room, glancing at them indiscriminately. Mara instantly liked him; he was an average sized man with long hands, harshly cropped brown hair, and curious amber eyes that were both intelligent and kind. What was even better was his indifference to his mixed group; Mara may have well have been a boy as well.

Instructor Hellin turned to face them. "Any style of two blades comes with weaknesses, namely a need for extreme concentration. But this style, with two differently sized blades, comes with it a natural imbalance. Also, it does not allow for greater reach consistent with both weapons, leaving you with some of the vulnerabilities of a knife fighter. However-

"This style is less exhausting than typical two blade style. There is less weight and more forgiveness in the movements. But that will come for later. For now, you will be working on your personal weapons. Those of you with family heirlooms-" He glanced at one or two. "Talk to me after class and we'll work something out.

"You have your blades assigned but they will be at their most basic power level. I don't care for having most of my students being sent to the Infirmary for burns and dismemberment," he said it so dryly and so blithely at the same time that it startled a laugh out of most of them.

"As you know," he continued. "You will be looking for your personal crystals, which will enhance your blades and make them your own for they will resonate with your very soul. Some of you will find them immediately; some of you will have to look. But not until all of have gained crystals will you be able to use them in formal combat. This is also incentive for you to work as a team."

One or two of the boys scowled. Mara didn't take her eyes of the teacher but she observed the other boys, all classmates she only vaguely knew. None of them seemed to harbor any particular animosity for her, fortunately and she vaguely hoped it would stay that way.

"Now… introductions, since we're chained at the ankle to each other for the rest of the school term," Instructor Hellin said, clapping his hands. "You already know me as Instructor Hellin and I hail from the realm of Cerres."

"So your expertise comes from harvesting grains?" a student asked slyly.

Hellin arched eyebrows. "Why yes," he said mildly. "Perhaps we can discuss it later, in the weapons room, after you declare yourself."

The boy winced. "Ah- I am Gregori, of realm Lucern… sir," he added hastily after, tossing back an errant blond curl from pale blue eyes.

A taller, less cherubic (and less mischievous) boy with shocking turquoise blue hair proved to be Beayan of Islus. A slender, wiry boy with pin straight black hair was Yuan of Shao. A broad shouldered, close mouthed giant with dark brown wavy hair was Sadu of Lientes.

"Take the day off," Instructor Hellin said after introductions. "I'm going to be working you hard enough; enjoy freedom while you can."

They parted after and Mara, out of practice, went to find Gareth. It wasn't difficult, considering she knew most of his haunts at this point. He was currently fencing with Andrei in a practice room. Gareth's blue haired cousin had probably ended his training session early or had it later, but he had become a completely different person as he clashed with his taller relative.

Gareth was using his favorite saber against Andrei, who was using a shorter dirk. Gareth had a longer reach and more power but Andrei had speed and extraordinary flexibility, seeming to be able to just twist his body and blade barely out of the way.

Those two were masters, Mara knew instantly. Gareth had been holding back on her all this time, she realized; he wasn't holding back on Andrei, not that he needed to. The slim, effeminate whipmaster actually drove Gareth back considerably once or twice. The pretty face was set and taut with concentration; his long blue hair damp with sweat and braided tightly.

Mara stared, studying their raw power and grace, like two enormous battling felines. Neither would relent; neither were benign. Gone was the affable Gareth who teased her for her hair and her penchant for men's clothing. Gone was the arrogant but sweet Andrei who had a better hand at cosmetics than she did.

But Gareth got the upper hand and used a tumble against Andrei, rolling them both onto the padded ground and subsequently knocking the smaller man's blade away.

"I yield," came Andrei's raspy surrender and the two disengaged.

Mara shifted awkwardly, not sure of what to do. Gareth looked up, wiping away sweat soaked bits of hair from his face. "Ah, we've had an audience," he said mildly.

Andrei looked up and smiled brightly, his usual cheery self again. "I normally don't get trounced," he said lightly.

"I won't tell your students," Mara assured him, stifling a grin. "Lest you lose that reputation you've been building amongst them."

"Hellin let you go early?" Gareth asked in mild surprise.

She nodded. "Apparently we're to get rest while we still can."

Gareth scratched his head. "He's gotten nicer."

"Or more sadistic," Andrei countered swiftly. He let his hair loose and combed through it with his hand. "I remember you complaining about Hellin during _your_ school days."

Gareth made a face. "And who trounced you?"

Mara twitched. "If I'm interrupting a family squabble, I'll leave then. I'm taking the day off, as Instructor Hellin told me."

* * *

Mara wandered around campus, without anything to do. She couldn't search out Bishop; he and W were both enrolled Advanced Tactics and thus ensconced in one of the multiple and tiny "War Rooms" scattered around the school. Marcus was still in class; so was Thorne. She trudged up to her room, changing into a pair of black jeans and an ancient black t-shirt with a very woebegone image of a Maltese cross. 

From her window, she glanced at some students going around a track on hover bikes and she swore to herself that she'd learn sometime, if only to not have to depend on Gareth on a ride.

What was the matter of crystals?

She puzzled this out. Where in the world would she find a crystal? She had seen their characteristic glint in gravel and even in the boulders that made up the small hideaway she and Gareth practiced in, but she highly doubted that was Instructor Hellin was talking about.

Abruptly, she got up, heading to her desk.

"Oi, Crono," she said, flipping up the console of her PDA. The screen blinked to life with her avatar bowing politely to her.

"How may I help you?" he inquired. He was as polite as ever, though they both had gotten to know each other.

"What can you tell me about crystals for blades at Red Fountain?"

He turned around briefly; Mara stifled a grin at seeing his new attire which seemed to consist of a black shirt that mirrored her own but ripped artistically, mostly in the back to accommodate a set of wings that suddenly sprouted from his shoulders (rather small black ones), and very well fitting black leather pants. His hands manipulated digital windows, deleting some, dragging some into or out of view. It was a constant source of amusement for her.

"Here we go," he said. "Despite your rather garbled question, I think I have what you're looking for."

He dragged a window to full size. Mara stared incredulously at the screen. "What the hell are you talking about!" she yelled. "There's no need to comment that far!"

Crono prudently disappeared from view, leaving only several lines of text and a few links to graphics on the screen. Mara read through with interest, despite her irritation with her impudent avatar.

"So it's like Star Wars," she murmured.

Red Fountain students were required, as an unofficial "first mission," to seek out crystals to be installed into their weaponry. The crystals colored the blades, thus acting as an identifying mark. Color was not the only property, for only with a personal crystal would the blade be able to reach maximum power and strength, only able to be matched by another crystal-based blade. Finding the crystal was the only important part; once it was found, it could easily be replicated to be installed in whatever other weapons a specialist used.

Crono had been helpful enough to put in some information as to where to find them, not that it was truly elucidating. There were rumors of crystal caverns in the grounds around Red Fountain but those were unsubstantiated. All in all, it seemed as though it was a matter of luck and active searching; as one source put it, it was a matter of "putting one in Fate's hands."

Bullshit was what Mara called it. She closed the windows and leaned back in her chair, rubbing at her temples as a headache started a wicked tattoo against her skull.

She then did what any prudent person would do. She went down to the cafeteria to have a snack.

* * *

Mara stirred her cup of tea idly, not feeling like drinking it. She had finished some homework for Languages (a quick passage in one of the older hieroglyphics) and didn't feel like doing much. Until she spotted Nathanial walking into the dining hall, book bag in hand. 

"Oi, Frey," he said with a broad smile, flashing white teeth at her. "If I can take a seat?"

"Go ahead," she said, offering a polite smile in return. He eased into the seat across from her. He then set down some books before her. "Here is my half of the research for our project. I must say that it's quite fascinating."

Mara picked up the top book, flipping through it to seek out the tabs he had used to mark the sections most relevant to their project. After a quick skimming, she looked back up over the top of the book with a dubious look on her face.

"Just how- old is this?" she asked delicately.

He blinked. "This is one of the most modern references to Earth around."

Mara sighed. "It's than rather out of date then. Last I heard, we have plasma screens and satellites."

"What?" The look on Nathanial's face was one for a camera. Mara had to stop herself from laughing by quickly looking down at the book and biting her lower lip.

"This is out of date," she repeated patiently. She looked through another book. "I'll have Crono upload some of the encyclopedias and almanacs from my local library for the technical details; we've had a population boom since the last time this was written. By the way, there's no USSR."

Nathanial looked miffed. "All right then. I suppose I'll have to leave most of this for you."

"You can type it up. I'll provide better information for you." She took her PDA out of her jeans pocket, flipping it open and typing her password. As it hummed to life and prodded Crono awake, she cleared away most of the dishes to the side of the table.

Crono, still in his punk-rocker gear, eyed her a bit warily. "Yes?" he inquired politely.

"Crono, I'd like you to access the library files in the Earth realm. Could you download…" She rattled off a rather impressive list of texts to be retrieved.

Crono managed to squeak, "That might take about a day…" His eyes were very wide and he looked ready to faint.

"As long as I get it, Crono. I'll put you in your docking station," sang Mara, innocently. She watched with satisfaction as Crono shuffled off screen, looking rather pale.

Nathanial was eyeing her with a mix of amusement and trepidation. "You're quite sadistic, aren't you?" he asked rhetorically.

"And you're getting quite familiar. You've actually insulted me."

"I can return to the flattery if you wish."

"You do that and I'll throw you in the lake."

"Ooo, tough one."

* * *

While Mara was not the paragon of female grace and delicacy, she certainly was not a tripping, clumsy oaf (some accidents involving high heels aside). Unfortunately, she gave a rather interesting first impression to her tutorial class, when she went flying, feet over head when she got up with the rest of her group-mates to start warm ups. 

Mara winced as she managed to get to her feet. Her left ankle pulsated in pain; she could imagine swelling trapping her foot into her boot. She wavered, trying not to fall back down again.

Instructor Hellin looked over in surprise. "Frey?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Mara responded, wincing. She looked down, realizing that the heels of her boots had cracked and split apart. A frown furrowed her brow.

The instructor noticed. He sighed. "Get a new pair from your room, Frey, unless any of you lads have feet her size."

The rest of her group-mates exchanged looks with one another. "Nobody volunteer too quickly," Mara said dryly. She winced and bowed to the instructor. "I'll be back quickly, sir."

"I have a pair," Beayan of Islus suddenly said. "Our feet should match."

"Get it then, boy. We've dawdled enough," Hellin commanded.

Mara didn't get to ponder the sudden destruction of her shoes as Instructor Hellin proceeded to give them all a workout to be proud of, scrambling along in Beayan's shoes, which were a touch too large for her. Gareth did take a look over the boots after coming around to take her to the quartermaster to get some new clothes.

He frowned as he prodded the heels. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that this was deliberate," he pronounced.

Mara pried off her second try; her feet had also decided to have a growth spurt along with the rest of her. She tried on the next biggest size as she looked up in surprise. "What?"

"The breaking is too clean, it wouldn't have fallen apart like this," Gareth said. He caught her eye and smiled crookedly. "I was Quartermaster's assistant for a stunt I pulled during sophomore year. I saw more than enough boots for a life time." He looked at the heels again. "Hmm…"

"This shouldn't have happened," Mara remarked as she tugged on her new boots and wriggling her toes experimentally. "My locker room's locked… But wait…" She thought aloud. "I left my boots out by the training room the day before because I wanted to wear my sneakers-"

"That's possible," Gareth agreed. "In any case… at least you needed new shoes."

Mara grimaced. "From home too. I've been cramming my feet into my sneakers for a while now."

"Take care of yourself, though," Gareth said suddenly. He eyed her. "You can never be too careful, you know."

For some reason, Mara felt a chill run down her spine at those words. She focused on getting her new boots off instead of meeting his eyes. "Oh, I am careful, Gareth. Very careful."

* * *

Mara rubbed at her left hand, which still annoyingly tingled, along with her right shoulder, where she had been struck earlier that day from a weapons rack that suddenly dismantled as she started to clean it, a shelf colliding solidly against her right shoulder and her left hand, which had tried to grab it. It had left a nasty bruise that still ached abominably, enough that Gareth had voiced a mild word of concern. But she had insisted on coming here tonight, wanting to continue practicing her fencing as soon as possible. 

"I see you have finally come," Miss Ruri said coolly, regarding the much younger female.

Mara could only nod and bow to her new fencing instructor. She tried not to stare around at the room around her, a bare, empty room paneled with rich mahogany and papered with cream fabric patterned with gilt fleur-de-lis. The main source of illumination was an elaborate and very Baroque crystal and gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling in isolated magnificence.

Miss Ruri was clad, of course, in a French fencing costume, consisting of a white poet's shirt with practical, tight cuffs (though edged with narrow lace) and a rather elaborate linen and matching lace jabot tied the throat, knee breeches of wine red fabric and a matching vest, white silk stockings, and soft black leather shoes with simple gold buckles. One of her hands was still clad in a white glove.

The formidable woman turned to face Mara, who felt very inadequate indeed in her own jeans and shirt. A gloved hand touched at the hilt of the rapier at the fabulously narrow waist, hanging from a vibrant crimson slash.

"I trust you know music?" The question came suddenly.

Mara blinked. "Ah- a little," she answered truthfully.

The white-haired instructor eyed Mara for a long moment, mongoose eyes just daring the much younger female to lie. "Very well then," Miss Ruri said. "Draw your blade."

At Mara's dubious look at the metal blade at her waist, the woman said icily, "I would not ask you to do so if I did not have some assurance in the stability of my weapon."

Flushing, Mara drew her blade, feeling energy gather from the adamantine hilt. Miss Ruri drew her own blade, extending her arm until it was parallel with the floor, blade extended with the tip pointing at Mara's throat. She snapped her fingers, once, and music started.

Mara stared incredulously for a moment, totally taken aback. Because the music that suddenly filled the room was not opera or classical or anything the prim and proper Miss Ruri would ever listen to, at least in Mara's mind. It was rap.

But she couldn't even consider the lyrics as the woman attacked. Mara barely managed to get out of the way; rather ungracefully, to boot. She drew her blade in to guard, cursing. Miss Ruri didn't relent, hounding her.

"Come girl!" she said scornfully, not even breathing hard. "Will you attack or not? I am no china doll! I cannot say the same for you however!"

Infuriated, Mara attacked back, Miss Ruri blocking effectively, except for one blow, from which she danced back from gracefully.

What the hell? Mara thought to herself. But Miss Ruri's guard was back up and Mara was hard pressed to defend herself again.

"Study your opponent!" shouted Miss Ruri over the clash of blades. "See how she moves, she plans! Every twitch is volumes of information you can use against her!"

Mara faintly could hear the music in the background as she slipped past Miss Ruri's guard but missed a second too late, luckily for the older swordswoman, who would have certainly been gutted if the stroke had gone through. The lyrics had stopped and it was only the beat. Then she realized. Miss Ruri was attacking and moving based on the beats of the song!

The comprehension must have been readable on her face for the white-haired woman nodded and offered a thin smile. "Rhythm, Miss Frey. Rhythm is in all swordsmen's styles." She brought her rapier up.

Mara managed to disarm the woman soon after, figuring the weaknesses in the pattern. Miss Ruri turned off the music. "As you see, fighting is music of its own, not just dance. Every opponent you face will have a specific rhythm. And to gain victory the quickest, you must shatter that rhythm with your own. Make your opponent stumble, confuse her by making her forget her own beat. Make her dance to your song."

They dueled again, to music once more, but the beat was much more difficult to read. Mara was disarmed three times before she figured out the pattern and managed to break it. By the end of the lesson, Mara was dripping with sweat; Miss Ruri was only breathing a little harder than usual.

They drank sweetened, tepid tea in delicate porcelain cups afterwards. The tea ignited strange warmth inside Mara's stomach and soothed her throat while leaving a bitter aftertaste on her tongue.

"This tea will cleanse your body and calm you," Miss Ruri said, sipping delicately from her pale blue cup.

Mara tried to be delicate as well but her hand shook and the cup trembled in her hand. She hastily set it down on the saucer, coughing awkwardly.

Her tutor studied her with penetrating violet eyes. "You should understand that the art of a lady is much more like the art of a warrior than you would think," Miss Ruri said after a moment. Mara looked up, startled.

Miss Ruri continued, "Dance and music play parts in the dance and music of the sword and the salle. Who else but a lady would be the master of subterfuge, when she must smile when her body is squeezed tight with stays and her head aches from her coiffure and manages to be the perfect hostess in a nest of vipers? A lady is the mistress of culinary arts, of tea and sweets and sumptuous feasts, as well as one versed in herbs and medicines, which makes her a mistress of poisons as well as the deliverer. She assumes the most pleasing of shapes for the situation, be it prim and proper or congenial and earthy. Conversely, my dear, consider this. Who would suspect her-us-of being the deadlier?"

Mara bit her lip, unable to match her tutor's glance. For the entire trip back to Red Fountain, she was unnaturally quiet as she pondered ladies who smiled as they served poison in crystalline cups and kept razor-edged daggers in their bodices.

* * *

"Something's going on," Mara said flatly to Nathanial as she grimly rewrapped the bandages on her fingers. She had a new set of scabbing cuts upon her left cheek where a splintering staff had scraped as well. 

Nathanial, indolent after two hours' worth of work in which they finished their project, blinked at her languidly. "So you're not just clumsy?" he inquired.

"Fu-"

The prince quickly added, "But accidents do happen, not that you're accident prone."

"Indeed," Mara growled. She balefully eyed her bruised and slowly healing fingers. Too many of her "accidents" had been lately happening in her specialty class, and that did not count the time in Survival class when her fingers slipped from a ceramic bowl Chaucer had been handing her (luckily it had been empty). Her most recent incident had included a defective staff, resulting in her bruised and bleeding fingers as well as the whip-thin trails of scratches on her cheeks.

"Someone's deliberately targeting you," Nathanial began, stopping as Mara sent him a "well, _duh_" look.

He continued on boldly. "So, you should set a trap. Leave your- I don't know, your homework somewhere, out in the open, and let's see what happens, shall we?"

"You're not helping me." Mara got up. "So there's no 'we' in this particular plan."

"Ouch! Must you burn me?"

Mara sent him a one-finger salute as she collected her things to set her trap.

* * *

All assurance aside, Mara really didn't think that Nathanial's particular idea would work, even as she put her schoolbag in plain view and "went off," leaving it vulnerable. But she came back and it turned out that her trap had been rather successful. 

"Oi, you!"

The presumptive vandal had his face covered with sunglasses and a hooded jacket. He saw her and made a break for it, a would-be successful endeavor if Mara didn't make a stunning flying tackle and pinned the meddler to the ground.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded as he struggled and cursed. He wriggled and she fought to keep him pinned. In midst of the fight, sunglasses went flying and Mara froze as she saw, at this point, familiar gold curls.

"Gregori?" she said incredulously.

Her classmate glared. "Get off me!" he snarled.

"What the hell are you doing messing with my equipment?" she demanded sharply.

"I didn't do anything! Get _off_!" He bucked underneath her.

She grimly held on, shaking him briskly, like a terrier with a rat. "You were trying to get me in trouble with Instructor Hellin, weren't you? And Codatorta?" He spat out a rude word. "Why?" she demanded, shaking him until he undoubtedly saw stars.

"I didn't do anything _now_," he snapped. "Let me go!"

She got off him slowly. "I don't know what's up with you," she informed him sharply. "But if you have a problem with me, tell me instead of doing pranks that can hurt other people too!"

"I didn't want to hurt anyone!" he blurted out as he got up, wincing. "That's not what I meant to do!"

"That's what you mean by giving me a defective staff?" she demanded. "That's why you broke the heels on my boots? Is that also why you deliberately weakened the straps on the weapons racks so that they would collapse when I start cleaning them?"

Gregori refused to meet her eyes. She asked quietly, "What really is that matter, Gregori? Have I done something to offend you?" She felt calm slip over her; a frail calm, but peace, nevertheless, as well as charity that she hadn't thought possible. Perhaps it was because for some reason, Gregori didn't strike her as hidebound and arrogant, by no means deserving of contempt.

"Gabriel made me do it," he said in a very small voice.

She stared at him, her eyes suddenly cold. That made sense now. "Are you one of his cronies?" she asked harshly.

"No!" he said quickly, turning away. "Never!" But then Gregori turned to face her, something like despair in his eyes. "Gabriel has something of mine. If I don't do as he says, he'll…"

"Ah…" She brushed off her jeans in a noncommittal way, turning her back to him. "Come on, kid. I'm in the mood for ice coffee."

A little while later, they were perched on the rooftop of one of the classrooms, dangling their legs off the edge, both with drink cans, Mara toting her desired ice coffee, Gregori holding strawberry-grape-watermelon soda. Mara sipped at her drink, savoring the creamy bitterness, a sin that Gareth had only recently introduced her to in Magix. God knew what she was going to do when she went back to Earth; she'd probably lug a whole truck of the stuff back.

"So Gabriel's blackmailing you, huh?" she asked conversationally.

Gregori nodded glumly, staring down at his brightly colored can of soda. "He has something of mine that's special. Since I'm in your main weapons class, he figured that I can sabotage you effectively, maybe get you into enough trouble with Codatorta to be suspended or expelled."

"Or seriously injured," Mara said reprovingly. The blonde ducked his head, flushing in shame.

"I didn't mean it," he said. "I just wanted you to be on Hellin's bad side. Maybe it would have persuaded you to leave…"

She snorted. "I've been on Codatorta's bad side since I've first stepped foot onto campus. He's been making life hell for me in class anyways." She ticked off what happened. "I've had my room trashed, my underwear spread across the quad, my homework stolen, my sleep disturbed, been tripped and shoved countless times, and my hair dyed the most ridiculous shade of pink imaginable. I have a lunatic for a mentor who makes me run at this point ten miles a day in under an hour, whose former teacher stabbed a hole in my hand. I don't think I'll be leaving just because Instructor Hellin doesn't like me."

He flinched. "I should have known. I'm- sorry about the mess."

"Indeed." She then asked, "What Gabriel has… it's very important to you, yes?"

"Yes," he said miserably. "I won't get it now…"

"Wait a second. I never said anything about stopping… We may as well give Gabriel his money's worth, Gregori," Mara said. She started to smile slowly. "And we'll make it spectacular."

* * *

Eyewitnesses were bewildered a few days later when out of the blue, the normally placid (read: stone-like) Mara Frey leapt at Gregori and proceeded the pummel him, shrieking something about sexual harassment and insults concerning her mother. Gregori was startled but reacted accordingly, actually catching her in the solar plexus once or twice. By the time two sophomores (W and Bishop, who just happened to be in the vicinity) succeeded in wading in and separating the two (and untangling the mess of freshmen), Mara Frey was wheezing as she held her tender ribs and nursed a cracked tooth and Gregori was sporting the makings of a black eye and trickles of blood from his nostrils. 

"What is going on?" Instructor Gareth roared, sweeping in, his eyes burning like coals.

The crowd shifted uncomfortably. "Two months of sweeping dragon pens for the lot of you if you don't answer," he threatened.

"Ah- Frey started it," a freshman said, wincing as Mara shot him the look of Death.

"But Lucern insulted her mother and groped her," piped up another, who was then subject to a black (literal and figurative) glare from Gregori.

"I don't care who started it, you both are in trouble!" Gareth roared, making everyone in the vicinity flinch. "You are meant to be specialists! Not brawling, bumbling buffoons in blue capes! Both of you are coming with me!" He grabbed both by the scruff of the neck, being able to do it more easily with Gregori than Mara, but still managing anyways, and marching them off.

The whispers began afterwards. The rumors were already spread around the school by the time the first juniors in Advanced Survival classes caught glimpses of Gregori and Mara being chased around the worst, most tangled trail in the forest by a grim looking Gareth. But what most of them didn't know was what happened just after the instructor dragged the two off. Once they were out of eyeshot, Gareth eased up on them. He handed Gregori a handkerchief for his bloody nose and eyed Mara worriedly.

"Can you still walk?" he asked with gruff concern.

"Yeah," she rasped. "Just let me catch my breath. I don't think Gregori broke anything." She tried to take a deep breath and winced. "I think I got a lot of bruises though."

"I have some tonic in my office. Gregori, were you seen?"

The blonde haired boy replied rather thickly, "I thinb so."

"Good, Gabriel will be coming around to give you something special, I suspect," Mara said grimly.

"I'll have to give you both detention, because you were fighting," Gareth said sternly. "And if you insist on this ruse…"

"Mine's going to be extra hard, I know," Mara said wearily. "But somehow it'll convince Gabriel, especially if I mope around for the next week or so. He'll be hovering around nearly peeing his pants in anticipation of the thought of my quitting."

"Er, Mara- Thanbs," Gregori said, keeping his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I owe you."

"Hey, not a problem," Mara said despite her bruised and aching ribs, managing a faint smile. "At least I get some strength training in."

It was hard to repeat that while they were being chased through the woods, Mara thought grimly. Gregori's bloody nose had finally stopped bleeding and her ribs didn't ache nearly so sharply, but both of them were limping, product of rather nasty fighting techniques.

They were breathing too hard to really talk but they were definitely going to be exchanging tips with each other about dirty fighting. For all of Gregori's cherubic appearance, he fought like the dirtiest and most hardened of street fighters. Luckily they had sworn off any particularly incapacitating moves in their "charade" for Gabriel, otherwise Gregori would have been limping a lot more and Mara probably would have been sporting cracked ribs.

Gareth roared insults at them whenever he saw them flag and peppered the air with more even when they didn't. Gregori stumbled, falling face flat into a sizeable puddle of mud. He sputtered, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to get back to his feet. Mara helped him up, using her sleeve to get mud out of his eyes. In the muck, he had picked up two pebbles in his scrambling. By chance, his hand had rubbed off some of the mud and colored light started to gleam under the still filthy surfaces. One glowed luminescent emerald, the other, brilliant sapphire. Gregori and Mara exchanged startled looks. Gareth came running up, bellowing, but paused as his two charges started rubbing mud off two non-descript rocks, only to be left with two brilliant crystals that glowed like colored suns.

The sapphire in Mara's hand glowed fiercely and steadily, leaving warmth in her palm. Her aches momentarily vanished and her fingers curled around the prisms of the crystal.

"Lord," she whispered, staring at it.

Gregori merely looked pole-axed. Gareth surveyed them. "Well then, you two finally finish up your weapons class," he said with faint satisfaction. "But that doesn't mean you're stopping!" And he chased them deeper into the woods. As Mara repeated every virulent curse she knew under her breath, she held onto the crystal and thought in a daze, _'Mom was right. "No great loss without small gain." '_

It was fortunate Mara found a silver lining to the cloud because after Gareth's "training session" through the woods (and into a swamp), she got a lecture (more like a screaming session) from Codatorta, who threatened to expel her from the school. She, still dripping murky water and caked with mud, bore it without a word and without expression, though she did say, in a monotone, that her injuries were from "falling down." (1) Gareth must have gotten to him, probably by promising to punish Mara deeply for the transgression.

Mara found herself with Armory duty every day, extra homework in classes, and the addition of weights to her ankles. She all but crawled her way through the days, sleeping like the dead when her head hit the pillow at midnight and falling out of bed with her body aching all over at dawn.

But seeing Gregori's relieved face and encouraging little smiles was enough to make her mood lighten. At the same time, she was relieved when she got to remove the weights at the end of the week of her punishment. She still had Armory duty for a month and extra hours in helping the professors clean up the classrooms manually (which mean more weeks of having raw liver and bits of snails crammed under her fingernails) but not having dead weight on her ankles was a relief she had never realized.

Wincing, she massaged her calves and ankles. "I suppose I'll be a little faster from now on," she remarked to Bishop, who was hiding out in her room and tuning a guitar. The door was open; she wasn't going to break _that_ particular rule.

Bishop frowned as he hit a dull note. He tightened the string. "You're an optimist," he said in the tone of one stating the name of a particularly vile variety of garden slug.

Mara gestured rudely. She hobbled over to her desk, digging out some medicine Gareth had given it to her to treat the worst aches and pains. She opened the green glass jar and started rubbing the mint scented white cream inside of it onto her ankles, sighing in relief as coolness spread through the taut and aching muscles.

Bishop started replacing a string. "Why did you do it?" he asked, bluntly, his long, powerful fingers unrolling a metal coil.

"Do what?" she asked innocently, propping her legs up and digging through her desk drawer for a box of candy her little brother had sent her recently. Bishop pretended to ignore it; she had introduced him to the joys of Milky Ways and M&M's and he had loved them ever since, to his dismay and her amusement.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about, woman."

She opened the small cardboard box, tucking the sweet but succinct note from her little brother away and taking out a bag of almond M&M's, Bishop's particular favorites. Teasingly, she gently shook the paper back, letting the chocolate covered nuts rattle.

She opened the pale brown bag and popped a red one in her mouth, whole. Chewing thoughtfully, she said (mouth still full, to rub it in), "I felt sorry for Gregori. He's not a bad kid."

He snorted. "He tried to get you kicked out."

"True, but not because of malice or otherwise. He was just caught in a bad situation." She selected a green one.

"You're so benevolent as well."

"Please." She snorted. "I'm no angel."

"Most would agree with that statement," he said placidly, tuning his guitar. By this time though, Mara knew him well enough to realize that he was edgy from the chocolate so close by, judging by the subtle twitch he had developed in his left eye.

Feeling slightly merciful, she finally threw the bag at his head, but his hand caught it in midair deftly. He juggled the guitar on his lap as he picked out the chocolate candies.

"I'll be sure not to let W know your weakness," she teased.

He leveled a chilling glare at her. She laughed and nearly fell out of her seat.

"I'm glad you're finally catching up to your weapons class," he said after a while.

"After finding a crystal in the mud," she said, disgruntled. She hadn't heard the end of _that_ incident. Even Instructor Hellin had been amused by that.

"_So…" the instructor said, eyeing Gregori and Mara with something like amusement in his amber eyes. "You found your crystals."_

"_Yes sir."_

"_And I hear that it was from a most interesting accident." He was definitely smirking._

_Gregori flushed red as a tomato; Mara remained stoic._

"_The strangest things happen from accidents, sir," Mara said somewhat stiffly._

"_Indeed. Well then, bring up your hilts and let's get this done and over with; you will all be practicing after this."_

"There have been stranger stories," Bishop offered by way of consolation. Mara rubbed at a livid bruise at her wrist, hardly mollified.

Her stoic friend polished off the M&M's and crumpled the bag into a little ball, hurling it into the nearest wastebasket, naturally scoring on the first try as Mara applauded.

* * *

Story Notes: 

(1) _The_ oldest excuse in the book for injuries received in a fight, especially in the military

* * *

Gratuitous Author Babble (GAB): 

Well… I'm rather hastily putting this up today because I will not be available for a while, to write stories or otherwise because of a planned trip. My apologies, my readers. So please, sit back and enjoy this chapter and feel free to add in your two cents, because midterms are coming up and Mara's going to feel the pressure to ensure her stay at Red Fountain.

Wind to your wings, readers!


	12. Chapter 11: The Storm that Brews

* * *

Chapter Eleven: The Storm that Brews

* * *

Warning: Some language will be present in this chapter. Cover your eyes, children!

* * *

Gareth looked troubled the next time he and Mara had their practice. He didn't yell so many insults this time nor did he have his usual cocky grin when he dumped her on her rear after a single misstep. After that flat practice, Mara was ready to rip out his hair but his sullen depression seemed to seep into her and hung like a gray cloud over her head, making her languid. 

"We're having some complications," he said finally, without her prodding.

She blinked but merely listened.

"Codatorta wants to get rid of you before your midterms."

"Why?" She felt rage start to boil up in her. She didn't regret starting the fight with Gregori; he didn't deserve to be in the hands of the likes of Gabriel. Nevertheless, she wasn't going to be pried from Red Fountain, not without proving herself.

"Some of the deans of the school are also pushing for it," continued Gareth, listlessly. "They got wind of your little stunt with Prince Gregori. They're pouncing on that as an excuse."

"No… We cleared it up! I'm still serving detention for that!"

"I'm fighting it," Gareth said grimly. "And I'm bringing in every damn favor that each of the teachers owe me. They're _not_ throwing you out of Red Fountain for something so small as a yard brawl."

Mara looked at him in awe and no little gratitude. "Gareth… thanks," she said softly.

"You can show gratitude by fixing your forms!" he barked at her but flashed a thin yet sincere smile.

* * *

Mara was startled at just how much support she had garnered, especially with the teachers. Professor Hawkins of Linguistics sniffed contemptuously after one class and muttered a few interesting curses that Mara made a note of to properly translate later, murmuring his outrage at possibly losing one of his most promising freshman students. Professor Marguerite shook her head from time to time when she spied Mara, before absorbing herself with some newly hatched wyverns (the more idiotic cousins of dragons and somewhat less dangerous, thus fairly safe for a beginning Creatures class). Tiberius of Geography stroked his beard and scowled, before demanding Mara serve at least part of her remaining detentions with him instead of in the armory, to help him with his newest research on the planet Earth. 

Chaucer and Professor Lenore were two interesting cases on the other hand.

"Sit down, my dear," Professor Lenore ordered one afternoon. Mara limply but gracefully sat down, as per her lessons.

Her near semester with the professor so far had been… interesting. First, she had passively pushed back at every attempt of the professor's to make her unconsciously feminine, to absorb all the mannerisms learned. Then she had mutely acquiesced to some things, if only to satisfy her Etiquette professor. Having sword practice with Madame Ruri helped if only that the venerable lady also tutored her in ladylike skills along with dispensing sword philosophy and bouts of fencing.

Mara carefully folded her hands on her lap as the stern, stiff woman regarded her with eagle eyes. The woman considered her for a long moment and said, finally, "Well then… Miss Frey I must say that suddenly- you've improved."

"I have, ma'am?" The question was entirely innocent this time.

"Indeed. Something about your demeanor has… changed, if only in your unconscious movements and gestures." Professor Lenore paused. "Normally I would have you take two Etiquette finals, however… I am willing to… bend the rules, just a touch."

Mara patiently waited.

"I would like you to aid in teaching of the boys in some of the more complex dances, as a female, in return for my cancellation of your exam."

Mara considered this. "I would be delighted to oblige," she said, carefully.

"By and by, Armsmaster Codatorta and the school deans have of late been, most… trying," Professor Lenore said rather dryly. She didn't quite scowl; that wasn't her style, but the lines at the corners of her eyes deepened and her lips tightened. "I will have you know, Miss Frey, that I am not fond of having favorite students. I merely do this for the love of a family member."

"I understand, my lady," Mara murmured demurely but was startled. Madame Lenore… supporting her? What a surreal day.

Chaucer left her equally bewildered.

Though technically, it was Gareth who started the whole thing.

During one of their practices (one which had gotten decidedly more spirited), Gareth tossed back his hair. "It turns out, the charges were dropped."

"What?" Mara nearly dropped her weapons where she stood. She knew better, on the other hand. Madame Ruri had beaten her the last time she dared drop a weapon.

Gareth nodded. "So have most of your detentions, other than some of your study periods with Tiberius."

"Any reason?"

"Chaucer spoke out for you," Gareth said. He had an odd expression on his face. "He wants you as a teacher's assistant."

"What!"

* * *

Chaucer kept her behind in Survival class, making her clean up some odds and ends he had in his battered but serviceable classroom (used when they weren't doing actual field study). The craggy faced young man tapped his torn fingernails along a desk as she gathered up selections of dried herbs. 

"You're serving the remaining time of your punishment as my teacher's assistant," he said brusquely. "That entails cleanup duty, assistance in demonstrations, and personal study."

"Yes sir."

"I am harsh but I can be reasonable. But the time you have with me with be dedicated to me alone and nothing more."

"Yes sir."

Chaucer had removed a pair of gauntlets from his rough collection of harsh weather gear and armor and was rubbing at his wrists. Mara caught glimpses of scar tissue running up and down the man's naked arms, as she re-categorized the herbs into their respective jars. She quickly averted her eyes.

"Do you have anything to ask?"

"No sir." Mara knew better than to ask the burning question inside her currently.

Chaucer chuckled softly. It was a cynical sound but held a hollow echo of what had undoubtedly been a very, very mellow and soothing voice. "Curiosity is not your weakness I see, like so many of your sex."

"It depends, sir." She knew better than to contradict him on that rather misogynistic compliment.

Chaucer yawned wide without regard for manners, revealing a set of glittering white teeth with slightly pronounced canines. Mara, however, didn't feel any particular fear at seeing the curious fangs. "Those who are known as problem children are of two extremes," he said conversationally. "The rotten and the brilliant. In a land of tales… I wonder how an… unconventional student will do."

Now that made Mara shudder, as she finished stoppering the last ceramic bottle and waited for Chaucer to dismiss her.

* * *

At this point, Mara hadn't felt the stirrings of her magic, not yet. Still, tension filled her, as though an invisible avalanche haunted her steps constantly, just waiting to tumble down on her. It was not a pleasant feeling. She had long since bullied Gareth into fixing her clothes, though he could do nothing about shoes ("Too complicated," he shrugged helplessly), but he hadn't taught her the spell itself. 

"It's not active yet, but will be very soon," he said, annoyingly calmly.

"Then why was I brought here?" Mara snarled, slamming down a pile of books on her desk. "If that blasted magic isn't even active!"

The lights started flickering and the floor beneath them trembled, just slightly. Gareth looked up in alarm and his eyes grew very cold as they turned to look at Mara. Mara felt something like ice touch the back of her neck as some invisible force started to press at her. She couldn't move, she could barely breathe, and she felt mindless fear further paralyze her joints.

"Don't make me rein you in like that again," Gareth said icily. "As you can see, your magic is subconscious. If you do not have control over your emotions, you can release devastation untold, especially onto yourself."

The steady pressure suddenly released and Mara could breathe again, albeit with some difficulty. She stared at him and could see the power that wreathed him. Cool blue lightning shimmered around him in an intricate lattice, vibrant and dizzying. But the illusion suddenly vanished and Mara quickly sat down, chastened.

"Yes, someday you will grow into your powers," Gareth said softly. "But until then, you must rein in your emotions, lest they destroy you."

He left early that particular time, leaving Mara to finish her homework on her own. Her body still vaguely trembled in remembering the force he had slammed upon her. She shuddered inwardly and tried to focus on her work, even as the hand holding her pencil still shook, lending clumsiness to her usually passable handwriting.

By the end, she had gone through most of the reference books that she had slammed down in her brief tantrum earlier, and out of boredom, she flipped through the superfluous ones. As she flipped through a particularly large one, she found a smaller book between the pages. She pulled it out, examining it with interest.

The book was rather slim, bound in fading black suede that still felt like velvet beneath her calloused fingertips. It had no particular title or inscription, marked only with a curious black spiral design with several prongs. She opened it carefully, feeling the covers rub against her fingers like soft prickles. There was no title page or other niceties, only neat, prim handwriting that filled all the pages top to bottom without a single margin to spare.

"Magic," it read. "Should not be defined by spells and potions. These are mere processes in which the Will is impressed on the environment. It is with the aid of Magic that these processes are able to be effective, for design without means is only in the mind of the creator, unchanging, unable to make its mark upon the world beyond the recesses of the mind."

Mara was fascinated and continued to read, falling asleep on her desk soon after with her mind buzzing with the curious philosophy rife in the little book.

In between her new busy schedule, Mara found herself wrapped in the curious little book. It was heavy stuff; she often had to reread paragraphs from time to time. Yet passages haunted her memory and seemed to stay there. As she set up for a brief lesson on wound stitching in Chaucer's class, she went over a meditation exercise.

"The force that is present within the soul, the mind, and the heart must be tamed before it is released. Stray sparks set aflame the brush around the fireplace, as will magic destroy when carelessly released."

As she went over dance steps, she thought about the movements of magic.

"Magic, like water, trickles through this world from every being. It will follow constant paths and gather into pools. What it meets will influence its affinity, where it comes from will determine its nature."

It was W, of all people, who elucidated some of the trickier passages for her, as well as getting her started in basic spells. He hadn't come into her room for a pleasure visit; on the contrary, he wanted something.

"I don't see why you have to come to me fix your injuries," she complained as he nursed a sizeable cut on his hand. It wasn't a pleasant sight, as it wasn't a clean laceration but a jagged tear across his skin that bled sluggishly despite his attempts to keep it closed.

"Shut up, woman," he growled, shaking back his greasy dark scarlet ringlets of hair. "You're the fix-it-all student here."

Mara glared at him. "Get that blood washed off first," she ordered, pointing to the washroom. He gave her a baleful look and sulkily went to do as she ordered.

Mara sighed as she pulled out her first-aid kit while W was washing. W came to her now and again with bruises and cuts and multiple injuries. She didn't ask where he got them most of the time, one time having caught him with a rather nasty scrape on his forehead from an accident in front of some other classmates, only to see him dismiss it but sneak to her room not long after for treatment.

W came back, having wrapped a towel around his hand. Mara inwardly winced before making him sit down in her desk chair and started swabbing the cut with alcohol. He looked away; he was not particularly fond of blood, despite his cavalier manner. His eyes fell on the slim book of magic Mara had been reading.

"What's this?" He picked it up with his free hand, deftly managing to flip it open.

"Don't!" Mara nearly dropped everything, staring in horror.

W's black-red eyes turned to stare back at her. "It's a Grimoire," he said, voice odd. He turned the book in his hand, looking at the cover. "Huh. It's not of any school that I know of…"

"How did you know what it was?" Mara asked, curious despite herself.

"Research for my great uncle. I destroyed my mother's moonflower trellis so- hey!" W yelped as blood started welling up again. Mara was quick with the towel and started dabbing on some of the healing ointment she had recently gotten from Gareth.

W considered the slim leather book for another moment before putting it down, even as she started bandaging the wound. "What are you doing with this? Unless you've been doing more than fencing lessons when you slip off with Gareth to Magix at midnight."

"I found it," Mara said irritably.

"And reading it. And presumably practicing?" W turned his odd eyes to her.

Mara winced slightly. "Ah… I hadn't gotten a chance."

"Good," he grunted. "Otherwise you could have burned the building down around our ears, Frey."

"Hey-"

W cut off her indignant reply with a thoughtful remark. "Huh. Tell you what… I'll help you."

"What?"

"Are you deaf as well as stupid, woman? I'll help you. Most of the spells in this sort of thing anyone can do. This is a novice's book."

"Oh, and you're a sorcerer?" Mara asked scathingly.

W gave her a shark-like grin. He held up his free hand and a brilliant ruby flame burst into life, hovering above his opened palm. His hand closed and the flame vanished. "I know enough," he said succinctly.

"What do you want from me then?" Mara asked warily. She knew W too well at this point. No matter how much of a good heart he had (deep down inside his grizzled, bastardly shell), everything had a price for him.

"Nothing." He flapped his bandaged hand at her dismissively. "Nothing at all. Just a favor once in a while."

"I'm not doing your homework _or_ dating you," Mara said sternly.

He gave her a dubious look. "I have enough fresh meat to bully into doing my assignments and Frey… The day I date you is the day you grow breasts and shrink half a foot."

"Tell you what, try washing your hair and I'll see what I can do," Mara retorted dryly. He growled and aimed a punch at her. She squeezed lightly near his bandaged hand and he yelped out an inventive curse.

* * *

So that was the start of her magical education. W was an astonishingly good tutor and patient when he put his mind to it, though he had a tendency to be more arrogant than ever with her. She got him to quit after she nearly set his hair on fire during their first "official" spell lesson. 

However, even as Mara sailed past the most rudimentary of magic, namely meditation to gather her personal power closer to her, shields and wards to protect herself and her awakening powers, and basic spells, such as fire starting, she started encountering difficulties. As W started going onto more complex spells, she hit a metaphorical wall.

"Why isn't this working?" Mara demanded, failing to enchant a mirror with a scrying spell for the third time. She was sweating, her muscles trembling. The plain mirror sat innocently before her on the dusty surface of a spare storage room W had managed to find for them to practice in.

W looked pensive. "It isn't for lack of power," he said finally. "You've got plenty of it. But… I think at this point, your powers are locked from you."

"What does that mean?"

W sighed, running a hand through his oily hair. "You have limits, Frey. You just hit them. That's all you're going to be able to do for a while."

"Damn."

"Don't worry about it. Your potential should come through sometime."

Mara sighed, hardly mollified despite W's rare and odd reassurance. She picked up a can of ice coffee (now fairly warm from long term exposure outside a refrigerator) and absently (though not without shielding) used one of the very small spells to chill it again. Her hand grew very hot, an unfortunate side effect, but when she used her other hand to open the can and lift it to her lips, the drink was as cold as she liked. It was a fairly useful spell, she admitted. A sudden question rose in her mind.

"I wonder if this would work on Earth," she thought aloud.

W, who had been drinking from a suspicious looking flask, turned to her. "No clue," he said succinctly.

"Oh, thank you, that's of _such_ use." She eyed the flask. "By the way, drinking too much is bad for you."

She received a dismissive, scornful gesture from W as he took another swallow.

Beyond the magic lessons, Mara had to study at double-time by this point as mid-terms loomed closer and closer. It was nearly Christmas but she wouldn't be getting a break anytime soon, as she went over maps of galaxies, giant books of runes and hieroglyphics, diagrams of ancient battles, and lists of medicinal herbs.

She didn't bother ruminating on Christmas, though there was a lingering thought in the back of her mind about going to her grandmother's house for supper (a sensation that sent the mind and the taste buds reeling) and how she needed to find _something_ for her older brothers that wouldn't break her limited bank account. But that was insignificant for the moment, as she forced herself to go over yet another family tree, yet another battle formation…

* * *

"Gah…" Nathanial was sprawled over a giant armchair like a discarded doll, staring up at his parlor's ceiling as if held the secrets to the universe. His hair was disheveled, half of it roughly leaning in the opposite direction, like the nap on a velvet cushion, though his ponytail was as secure as ever. 

Marcus and Thorne looked equally exhausted, flopping over each other like kittens on a sofa. Their hair veiled parts of their faces. Mara leaned against Nathanial's armchair, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples.

"We made it," Nathanial croaked dramatically. Mara was too drained to hurl so much as an insult at him.

Exams had just finished, at least for their academics, held one right after the other in their lecture halls. It was enough to drive anyone completely out of his or her head (Mara had spotted one or two boys trembling and pale who were on the verge of nervous breakdowns). Mara didn't bother even thinking about exams at this point, too exhausted by nerves, lack of sleep, and thinking to even fall into a coma-like sleep.

The rest of her classmates would agree, or at least her closer friends. Mara looked the worst of all of them, by popular consensus. Her hair was limp and oily, her normally tawny complexion more like ashen gray, and giant black circles resided under her heavy-lidded eyes. She had a pounding headache between her temples but she was too tired to even think of making the trek to her room, which was some distance away from Nathanial's.

She would have to take a bath later, she thought dimly, as long as she didn't fall asleep in the tub.

Gregori all but crawled in a little later, looking ashen. He had hesitantly joined their group, despite Nathanial's initial contempt. However, they had hit it off not long afterward, having similar irreverent senses of humor though Gregori was a close relative of Marcus', which explained the two's remarkably similar cherubic appearance.

He came bearing gifts, which explained his pace, mostly consisting of junk food, soda, and coffee. Everybody stared blankly at it, all of them unable to move. Mara then sighed, getting herself up slowly as she toddled over to the hoard and picked out some ice coffee. That single act seemed to instigate the rest of them. Nathanial levered himself out of his chair; Thorne and Marcus started unwinding from each other gingerly.

The cold caffeine revived her and made her feel a little more human. The headache started fading once she started to walk a little bit around the room.

"Damn… I need to go to the armory later," Nathanial complained aloud.

"Detention?" Thorne asked.

"No… I need to pick up some equipment because of our practical exams…"

Everyone else froze in place and stared at the prince of Popularus. Then panic ensued.

"Dammit!"

"Oh, shit!"

"Nat, you freakin' moron!" The inhabitants of the room started hurling cushions at the hapless student.

* * *

Mara was lucky in having Gareth to be an obliging source of information for her last test, a practical exam of Survival and battle skills in a virtual simulation chamber, which would be the sole determining factor in her stay at Red Fountain. 

"Of course, it's no excuse for you to have done badly on your academic midterms," Gareth had said matter-of-factly and shot her such a ferocious look that if she _hadn't_ studied her brains out, she would have considered moving to Alfea, fairy or not.

He went over the process with her as she sipped tea after taking a shower, which had done wonders for her mood.

"All you're allowed is what you can carry on your belt and in your hands," Gareth said. "You're allowed most kinds of equipment… except for the obviously unacceptable, including magical destabilizers, even if they would work on the simulation chamber you're tested in."

Mara picked up a notepad and started to make a list. "Well… I suppose I won't need my medical pack, or at least a full one."

"Don't be too sure," Gareth warned. "One year a boy got poisoned. He figured since it was virtual reality it wouldn't harm him. Unfortunately, the psychosomatic effects knocked him unconscious for two weeks… It's best to treat everything in the simulation chamber as real."

Mara rolled her eyes and they bickered amicably for the rest of the evening until they had come to an agreement and Gareth left the room after getting her the equipment she needed for her exam, which was the first one of testing day. She couldn't sleep, however, and found herself going to a stack of spellbooks on her desk.

W had recommended them to her to read as theory and one or two of them were part of her Languages class. She went over the elegant words, trying to understand them. Mara wasn't so stupid as to do spells in her room but she sought to _see_ them, just as she _saw_ the simplest spells in the slim book she had first found and did them without any problem after reading them. But the search was fruitless so she turned to the original grimoire.

By now, many of the passages were familiar and she glossed over them in the manner of one reading a cherished but long memorized poem. She got to the pages she couldn't understand, the spells that W couldn't teach her. But they didn't make any more sense. She frowned. Then she got to the very end of the book. There was no conclusion at all to it, just one last potion recipe for fertility. She picked at the edge, noticing that the paper inside of the leather volume was peeling from the covers. It slickly peeled back, revealing three more pages, filled from top to bottom in neat, miniscule writing.

She scanned it as quickly as she dared. But the new addition was merely made up of more spells. There was an odd stanza of writing she could not decipher before the last paragraph.

"Magic is not merely in the air, the earth, or the water, but all around, existing in all plains of reality and unreality. It is at once surrounding and penetrating. It is not for a book or even a mentor to tell of its nature, however, so I wish you well in all your endeavors…

Mara Frey."

Mara stared at the last words, disbelieving. She looked up and down the page, utterly bewildered. Her eyes then fell upon the stanza of once undecipherable writing. They burned on the page and soon into her mind, words that made no sense at all to her conscious brain but irrevocably in her memory, even as she fell into deep, deep slumber before her eyelids even closed.

* * *

Gratuitous Author Babble (GAB):

Thank you very much, the three of you who were so good to review! I've had a nice little vacation and now have more ideas and initiative to write. I'm starting to wrap up Under Shadowed Wings and the first story arc of the adventures of Mara Frey.

In the future:

A short Christmas story for Mara

A summer vacation story (probably a short)

Mara's sophomore year at Red Fountain


	13. Chapter 12: Fire Burning Bright

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Fire Burning Bright

* * *

Mara couldn't remember what happened but she woke up in the bed, instead of dramatically bent over the books on her desk. She sat up, rubbing at her head, which felt oddly fuzzy, and running a hand through her tangled hair. She didn't have much chance to relax, as Gareth came in without knocking. 

"Oi, Frey, time to get up."

She scowled at him. "You have no concept of privacy."

"There's a difference though, you're actually wearing a t-shirt. Now get your ass up, we're going on a jog before you turn in for finals."

They watched the sun rise together from the clearing where they sparred. It was slow, washing over the valley inexorably like a golden tide. The light touched the tops of malachite and jade trees and painted them with bright, fleeting fingers. It danced across the rippling waves of the lake like sleeves and scarves of amber. The blackness of night became rich, deep violet, then dark twilight blue, then palest aqua and rose and vermilion.

"You know, I never get a chance to just- see how beautiful this place is," Mara said, quietly.

Gareth laughed softly. "I don't hear that from a girl these days."

"You haven't grown up in a city all the time, Gareth. You don't realize that this land is a fairy tale for my world. And it's so incredibly wonderful…"

"But not perfect."

"Is any place?" She turned to face him with wide, grave eyes, at least as he saw it.

Mara closed her eyes as she felt a breeze caress her hair. "I don't want to leave this place, Gareth. It's not as though- I'm at home, but- it's beautiful. And I want to see this place for all that it has."

She heard the conviction in his voice as he said softly, "I'll make sure you stay as long as you want, Mara."

* * *

"Final test, survival simulation. But remember, this does na only test yer fightin' abilities. Ye will be judged on everything ye do. Frey, ye're first." 

Mara stepped into the bare chamber, her steps echoing around the vast, vaulted ceiling. Her hands clenched at the hilts by her side. She glanced down, to make sure that the gauntlets about her arms were secure and in working order. Her stomach roiled around her breakfast but she forced herself to remain calm as Codatorta curtly told her what she was required to do through a microphone.

"Yer testing field is randomly chosen and ye will have twenty minutes to survive in the area. Your entire test will be evaluated and a passin' or a failin' grade will be given. Any weapon, potion, or item ye have brought into the chamber may be used in yer evaluation. Yer field- tundra planet."

The metal walls warped around her and the air shimmered. It grew cold, with a brisk wind with only the slightest hint of moisture. The landscape was mostly flat, of bare black earth studded with rocks and shrunken plants, and small expanses of hardened snow and ice. Mara could feel the dry cold seeping through her uniform, biting into the very marrow of her bones. She reached to her belt and found the compacted enveloping cloak she had made sure to get. Undoing the little case was the work of a minute and she draped the silvery cloak about her, grateful to finally feel the cold abate.

Crunching noises came from behind; she whirled, as an enormous troll lumbered up to her. Its skin was gray and cracked, like a boulder, its face wide and expressionless. The creature wasn't alone.

One by one, more trolls came to surround her. Instinctively, she reached for her sword hilts but paused, remembering the warning that everything she did would be judged. She slowly released the blade. In the guttural language of trolls she cautiously greeted them.

The first one, wearing a thick, black necklace of pitted black metal, grunted back with a crude variation of what she had learned in Languages class. Mara took a deep breath. She grunted out the word "fight" and fumbled for something that had the connotation of "no," shaking her head all the while.

Their leader pointed to her, grunting something. The crowd of monsters grunted and hooted, troll laughter. Mara had a bad feeling about this…

The trolls approached and even in the chilly air, she could smell their stench: long fermented body odor and decaying meat. She breathed through her mouth and clenched teeth, trying not to gag. One of them reached for her and she ducked out of the way, shaking her head. Another hand reached for her and she barely got out of the way. One of the trolls roared and stalked toward her.

"I suppose I can't talk out of this, so I'll have to fight," Mara hissed. She pulled out her blades, feeling that familiar hiss of crystal magic forming her long blade. The sapphire blue energy hummed to her senses, almost an extension of her own mind and body.

She blocked the meaty fist heading her way and slashed at the creature's chest in a clean line. The monster roared in pain, falling back, clutching at the bloody but cauterized wound. She dispatched it without even realizing, as if she were merely doing a combat exercise with Gareth. The clumsy body and limbs trembled before collapsing bonelessly to the earth. She whirled just in time to see the rest of his buddies come after her.

Muttering a curse, she started to run, using the hole their fallen companion had created. They came after her. She may be faster but they would inevitably catch up; trolls had unnaturally good endurance. This was flat territory; she could see around for miles… wait, what were those hills?

She headed to them quickly, hearing the trolls roar behind her. The hills were more like piles of rocks, deposited seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Mara whirled, ready to face her enemies. The trolls ringed about her, most holding crude weapons made of stone and gnarled wood. She snarled at them and pulled off her cloak; it would only hamper her in a fight in which speed was a necessity. Besides, adrenaline sent her heart racing and her body temperature soaring. The trolls roared at her, ready to attack, but suddenly, those glassy, stupid eyes went wide. Weapons dropped as the trolls ran away as fast as they could, bellowing in terror.

Then she heard a growl from behind, from the hill. Fear had an icy grip on her heart as she very slowly turned around.

An enormous, elegantly shaped head rose from the "stones," attached to a sinuous neck and covered with gleaming gray scales. Eyes the blue of a clear winter morning gazed at her with animal ferocity, slit pupils dilating. Enormous wings unfurled, an expanse of pebbled gray and white. Claws and teeth like icicles gleamed in the pale sunshine, some as long as her arm.

It wasn't alone.

These weren't hills, Mara realized, heart in her throat. These were dragons.

She could only stare up at the tundra dragon, its eyes glaring at her. It opened its great maw, yawning wide to bare its icy sharp fangs. Mara slowly raised her sword. She had never seen these dragons before, never trained without the supervision of a teacher even the rudiments of dragon wrangling. She realized that if she couldn't control it, she had to kill it. Her heart sank at having to kill such a beautiful creature, even in a "mere simulation." However, she realized how hypocritical she was, without even needing traces of blood on her gleaming crystalline light sword.

But she didn't have to justify anything to her soul just yet. The first tundra dragon roared, rearing and opened its mouth, spraying a stream of ice crystals right at her. Mara dodged, leaving her cloak behind. The stream hit it, locking the garment in a coffin of solid ice.

This dragon wasn't terribly pleased about being woken.

Mara took a deep breath, reaching for the dragon's mind with the limits of her training, mostly theory, asking gently for it to rest, to sleep again. But the chaos and utter feral activity in the creature's brain shoved her out, would not let her plant her message and communicate with the creature more animal than being.

She blinked, stars in her eyes as her mind collapsed in weariness. The dragon roared, its cry a scream of an angry harpy magnified many times, rattling at Mara's ears. It deafened her, left her reeling. She would swear countless times after that in that chamber, she thought that her eardrums had ruptured and blood was running down her cheeks and neck.

Then words burned in her mind. The book from the night before flashed in her memory, of those fiery words that burned and vanished, leaving her blinking in bemusement. She bellowed out the words that were clear to her in a frighteningly lucid moment:

"Fire, fire burning bright,

Bring forth the flames to aid my plight!"

Fire. Flames. They were everywhere. She could dimly hear the dragon and its comrades screaming, screeching in pain and anger. But… she couldn't let them die. After all, she awoke them after all…

"Let not the drake be burned and harmed,

But driven back, under this charm!"

The fire exploded and roared about her. She could feel it. It was all over her face, her hands, her legs… It whipped through her hair and bathed her in almost unbearable heat. Surprisingly, she couldn't smell burning flesh and hair, though it was agonizing.

"Stop it!" she screamed and fell, eyes closing tightly. The flames licked at her like brief caresses of the wind, though so very hot. It was going to cook her; it was going to make her into a dried husk… Then the flames vanished.

When she opened her eyes, she was on the floor of the simulation chamber, and a very pale Codatorta was staring at her.

"What devilry did ye do?" he whispered.

* * *

Mara found herself in Master Saladin's elegant, comfortable office. Or at least his waiting room. She wasn't complaining terribly as she levered herself onto a comfortable chair, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. 

What had she done? The words had come unbidden. It was as if… The fire was gone. She rubbed at her hands. Yes, it was gone. She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

The door opened and she looked up. Master Saladin steadily came out, leaning on his gold walking stick. "Come in," he said quietly. "Professor Codatorta has told me quite a story."

"I'm sure he did, sir," Mara said as she followed him inside.

Saladin's office was surprisingly not all in shades of red, as Mara had expected as per the decoration of the rest of the school. It was warm and definitely masculine, as he seemed to favor dusty gold and dark wood as a theme. The best features were a set of enormous picture windows on the east side of the office and vaulted ceilings. Practical, not pretentious, yet not merely habitable. Mara already liked this man for good taste.

He eased himself into his desk, a gargantuan thing of well seasoned wood neatly organized with a number of curious gadgets and some papers. "Have a seat." She tentatively sat in one of the gold wrought and gray cushioned chairs in front of the imposing desk.

Saladin considered her with his dark eyes. "You have already attracted considerable excitement at Red Fountain in your first semester here, Miss Frey."

Mara managed not to flush. "Yes sir."

"And this startling development… What did you do?"

Mara looked at him. "I- went through the simulation, as I was ordered. Somehow… those flames… they appeared."

"Those flames destroyed a part of the chamber, especially the sensory projectors. They burned so fiercely that new parts will have to be brought to repair the damage and the spells within the chamber will have to be replaced. And Professor Codatorta half expected you to be burned up by your own spell." He picked up a disc. "We managed to record part of your simulation, before the observing spells were destroyed by your flames."

Mara really did blush this time. "I-I didn't mean it," she whispered.

"I suppose you didn't. You don't strike me as one to vandalize school property." The dryness in his voice was enough to make the Sahara seem like a marsh. Mara blinked at him in confusion. Was that meant to be a joke? He slipped the disk into a projector.

There was a faint buzzing noise and an image of the chamber from above materialized. Mara was facing the tundra dragon, sword in one hand. Her brow was furrowed, and it was very clear she was trying to communicate with the beast.

Then, the beast screamed, lashing at her. Fear was etched over her face before she cried out the words of the spell desperately. Sudden, she was enveloped in flames, a pillar of fire, and lashed at the dragon with an extension of the flames. The dragon screamed in pain and rage. Fireballs went flying at the other dragons, eliciting more screams from the beasts. One flame went flying to the hidden camera, and the image spluttered and winked out of sight as the spell was destroyed.

Mara stared at the empty air above the projector.

"What I would like to know is where you learned how to use dragon spells," Saladin said calmly, folding his hands.

"Dragon spells, sir?" She looked at him.

"Dragon spells are an archaic form of magic, including the more ancient incantations and words of power. They are not in all sense learned, as they come to the user, especially from a written page. That is the main way they are passed down; the mage secretes the spell and its magic into a book to be given to apprentices. They date back to the time of ancient wars of wizards and witches, with so much power placed into precious syllables and glyphs. It is not a light power."

Mara remembered the burning letters in the book and managed to school her face to a neutral expression.

Saladin continued, as if he were simply chatting about the weather, "Many disregard these spells, for incantations take time to recite and write. Especially at Alfea and Cloud Tower, they have refined the art into a few syllables containing the intent of the spell. As long as the intent word is intact, the spell will come. However, incantations are not to be lightly disregarded. They are very specific and leave much less margin for error in a spell. Also, there is a greater chance of the spell actually working, for during the chant, magic focuses through the mage's channel, the incantation often improving the will." He eyed her sharply. "I have been sensing rampant magic in some of the storage rooms, Miss Frey, will I be correct in assuming it is you who is the source?"

Mara flushed, looking down. How she wished she could lie. But she couldn't, not to the Headmaster… "Yes sir."

"Uncontrolled and unprotected magic practices are dangerous, Miss Frey. I'm surprised you haven't destroyed anything yet."

"I put up shields, sir," she whispered. "And I take most of the things out so I won't destroy anything that is particularly… fragile. I had supervision too." She delicately chose not to tell him about W's involvement.

The Headmaster regarded her. "So your magic is finally emerging," he murmured.

"Sir, don't send me to Alfea!" Mara pleaded, standing up in alarm.

"They are better equipped to teach you, Miss Frey." He arched a brow.

"I'm not a fairy, sir, I'm human."

"Oh?" He raised a snowy, bushy eyebrow.

"I know I'm not, sir." She managed to meet his eyes. "I've… sensed the fairy girls. I don't have what they do. My magic… it is limited and I don't have wings."

"You never know, Miss Frey." He gave her a penetrating look.

Then she had an epiphany. "I've never transformed, sir! I've never shown fairy form. Isn't it required that students attain full fairy form before attending Alfea?"

He stroked his chin idly. "True. Perhaps that is something to consider…"

"I- don't think I'm a witch either," Mara added, biting her lower lip slightly.

Saladin shook his head, looking amused. "It is too late to attend Cloud Tower anyways, Miss Frey. Ever since Headmistress Griffin came into her office, she has insisted that with very few exceptions, all witches will receive at least four years of training from the start of their education to the finish. Also… she chooses each of her students specifically through her rather capable library. She hasn't sent you an invitation, has she?"

"She hasn't, sir."

"Very well then. It appears, Miss Frey, we will have to accommodate you and your magical studies." He almost smiled at Mara's flinch at the thought of even more exceptions. "Ah, do not worry, Miss Frey. We do have a magical program in Red Fountain, though it is very limited and geared mostly for combat skills. It is generally limited to upper level students, despite their level of mana or winx, but we do make exceptions for younger students with active mana. You will be joining some of your classmates however. You are not the only part sorcerer in this school."

"I- thought specialists didn't depend on magic, not to that level," Mara murmured. Well, at least until she met W.

"They don't. Not as heavily as witches or fairies. But look at your blade, your shield, which are created through magic. Specialists don't manipulate mana at the level of full magic user. They are saturated with it but don't use it as a major skill. Also, as we are surrounded by magic, we must educate ourselves about it. I trust you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"That will be all, Miss Frey. You will get your new schedule after exams are finished and a new semester begins."

"You mean, 'if I passed,'" Mara muttered under her breath, remembering her probation before replying succinctly. "Yes sir."

Saladin actually smiled as he shuffled through his papers. "And if you are wondering as to the state of your probation, I am happy to let you know that you will be staying with us for the next semester. Several of the staff has professed their sponsorship of you here as a student, especially considering your academic record here. Even Professor Codatorta admits that you passed your final practical exam before your… mishap. We did say anything could be used after all."

Mara's eyes widened. "T-Thank you, sir," she stuttered, dimly aware of an overwhelming joy that filled her to the brim.

"Mind you, Miss Frey, you will have to pass your finals in order to be asked back to Red Fountain for the next school year. But otherwise, you are now officially a student of Red Fountain. You are dismissed."

"Yes sir." She stood and saluted him before heading to the door as sedately as possible.

"By the way, Miss Frey, do expect to have your exam picked apart by your magical studies professor," Saladin said calmly, going over some papers on his desk. "The professor should also be able to guide you far better than an upperclassman."

"Thank you sir." She saluted him again and exited the room hastily, cheeks flushing from the last sly parting shot.

* * *

After changing into something more comfortable in her room, Mara headed to the library, feeling as though she had narrowly missed falling into a chasm. She silently let out a sigh of relief, feeling dimly exhausted. Going into the now very familiar library was like sinking back into serenity. Idly, she decided to find something to read, but not just out of pleasure. Just enough to bide her by until she could find Gareth 

Heading up to the golden dragon arch over the library's catalog, she said clearly, "Spellbooks."

The digital voice responded in a monotone, "Specific variety?"

"Dragon spells."

"Please step back."

Mara barely dodged out of the way as columns of battered books fell out of nowhere, landing on the lectern style catalog and all around it on the floor. Coughing at the dust, she picked up the nearest one.

_Grimoire of Ice Winds_, it read. Before she could open it however, a familiar, sneering voice spoke in the dusty silence of the library behind her.

"Well, well, the Dragonslayer."

She turned. "Gabriel, charmed to see your new ability in poetic names." She smiled frostily at the effeminate, icy teen boy. In her growth spurt, she had shot up enough to look him in the eye without having to tilt her head (much), something almost gratifying when considering nearly all Red Fountain boys were taller than average. That was something rather startling to Mara, who had been on average about half an inch taller than most of the boys at her old high school.

"You think you're the best here, don't you, girl?" the boy sneered.

"If you're saying that I think myself 'good as a boy,' then yes." She looked at him levelly.

He stepped closer. "You don't belong here, bitch. You're just a little human from that disgusting planet Earth, an upstart who reads too many fairy tales." A smirk twisted his face. "Or maybe… just a little girl who wants to be a man? A dyke?"

Mara laughed and it was not a pretty sound. She met his mismatched eyes with impunity "Nice try. I'm not attracted to women. I've heard all the insults before. You're not as creative as I thought."

He seized her shoulders. "Get out of Red Fountain, bitch," he hissed. "You may be Saladin's pet and Codatorta's temptress, but you're not fooling me. You soil the illustriousness of Red Fountain, an illustriousness that stretches back thousands of years, with families that stretch back as long."

"Like yours, I'm to assume." Mara's face grew blank and she pulled up her knee swiftly. For all his training, he didn't have to reflexes to match Mara's, something that made her feel a savage pride. As the prince fell to the ground, curled in a fetal position, she walked away, clutching the grimoire so tightly it threatened to fall apart.

A note was left on her door as she went back to her room, having lost her appetite for any kind of dinner. Wary of it, she carefully nudged it off the door with the very tip of her shoe, ready to jump if it contained flash powder or small bombs. While most of the pranks were over, save for the occasional shove in the mess hall and sundry, she thought it best not to be complacent. It fluttered gently to the ground, looking innocent. She looked around, cast a quick shield, and worked a minor spell on the envelope.

The envelope opened, revealing only a slip of paper that floated out, unfolding and hovering in front of her face.

_Mara,_

_Cool trick you did by the way. The rest of us won't have survival midterms for a few days at least because whatever you did destroyed half the simulation room. Codatorta hasn't told us anything about whether you're going to be expelled for doing that. You're probably not going to be at dinner but come over to the garages at about eight. Some of the guys and I are going clubbing since we do have a free night on Saladin's orders. It might be your last, but I hope not! Send me a message if you can._

_-Nat_

Mara actually smiled, feeling better. She opened the door and stepped into her room, heading to her desk. Picking up her PC after she set down the grimoire, she typed in a message (after finding a duplicate of the note on her door in her inbox; Nathanial must have wanted to make sure to get in contact with her):

_Nat, don't worry about it. And I didn't _mean_ to destroy the simulator; it just… happened. I'm not expelled, far from it. I'm finally accepted here! See you at eight._

"There, that should do it," she said aloud, sending it to Nat's cell phone.

Her cell phone played Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor and she picked it up, seeing that it was her mother.

"Hello?"

"Mara! Why haven't you called?"

"Sorry, Mom, I've been busy. Exams were all this week and they were determined to see how far we can go to death without actually dying." Mara padded over to her bed, flopping onto it.

"Tough isn't it?" Her mother sounded sympathetic.

"Yeah. But I'm dealing."

"Are you going to be coming back, Mara?"

"I'm staying, Mom. I've been accepted. My probation is over."

Her mother sighed. "I knew you'd find a way, Mara dear."

"I got it from you, Mom."

Her mother actually chuckled. "Well… just checking on you. By the way, I'm sending you some more clothes."

"Mom!" Mara groaned. "I don't need any more than I already have! I practically live in my uniform these days!"

"Oh come now! This is from your grandmother." Mara suppressed another groan, even as her mother continued, "They should be coming in today."

Mara got herself up, heading to the small mailbox attached to her room. Red Fountain had been gracious enough to set up a connection between Earth and her dorm room so her family could send her things (or take them back, depending on the situation), like Daniel's packages of candy and the occasional letter from her mother (who was somewhat of a romantic as well as vaguely old fashioned). Like clockwork, a package was already present inside the cubby. "Thanks, Mom… Tell everyone that I love them, all right?"

"We all love you too, Mara dear. Be safe."

"I will, Mama." Mara smiled almost sadly as she turned off her cell phone and went to her door.

Still wary, she opened the door and took a step back. Nothing shot at her face and nothing swung to smack her upside the head (she was getting paranoid but as Gareth said wryly, "Better paranoid than dead."). Her inbox held a neatly wrapped brown box that had the familiar flower label her mother used for letters and packages. No one could duplicate that. Picking it up, she set it on the ground and hunted for a knife to open it, dreading what could possibly linger in it.

* * *

"Here comes the hero," Nathanial said with a grin. 

"Shut up, Nat," Mara grumbled. "Where's Gareth anyways?"

"He couldn't make it," Nathanial said with a shrug and Mara felt downcast.

She had quite frankly wanted to see him first after she cleared everything with Headmaster Saladin. He was after all, the most instrumental in her passing the midterms. He deserved to be the first one told, at least by her own voice instead of rumor and hearsay. She shook aside her glum mood. She'd make it up to him, somehow. Christmas was coming up anyways; it'd be a good excuse-

"By the way, Frey, interesting choice in costume," Gregori said slyly.

Mara glared at him. "You've seen me in street clothing."

"Not as tight as that- ow!" Gregori rubbed at his arm where W had punched him.

In a grudging concession to the expense her grandmother had spent, Mara had chosen some of the clothing from the package. The jeans that had come were gratifyingly acid-washed blue, comfortably softened and faded, but fit far tighter than she was accustomed, especially on her hips, and tied with a wide sash of a blue satin ribbon. She admitted that she liked the jewelry, having chosen a necklace of rough turquoise pebbles and silver wire and an enormous bangle of etched silver. The shirt and shoes were hers, however, either stolen from her brother's closets or bought from vintage stores that had healthy caches of mesh and black. A loose men's shirt, pale blue drooped over a very close fitting tanktop, one of her brothers' wifebeaters washed so many times it had shrunk, not that it already being tight enough to accentuate their muscles had helped. She played with one of the enormous silver crosses she also had around her neck, studded with round semi-precious stones.

The irrepressible prince only smirked at her. "Yes, my queen, oh mistress of mayhem, perpetrator of problems, duchess of doom… Ow!" Mara had shut him up by yanking his red ponytail, nearly pulling out the red-orange feathers he had attached to it.

Bishop chuckled darkly. "Watch your mouth, Nat, else she stitch it shut for you. Don't be pulling my tail, girl, I didn't say anything the court jester has."

She smiled sweetly at him. "Of course not, Bishop. Unlike Nathanial, you know how to behave." Nat muttered something rather profane, rubbing at the base of his head.

"My point illustrated," Mara said, gesturing grandly to Nat. Nat glared at her.

"Birds, you'll never understand them, lad," quipped Marcus in a rare display of wit.

"Enough!" growled W. "Are we going or not?"

Mara bowed low and grandly. "After you, gentlemen."

They looked at her incredulously before exchanging glances. Nathanial took her left arm, Bishop took her right, and together, they hauled her out, ignoring her screeches and rather well-aimed kicks.

* * *

They had dinner at a crowded restaurant that had floating plates zipping along in the air filled with tempting creations for anyone to snatch off to eat. Mara had to admit it was fun, especially when W and Nathanial got into yet another argument about who got the last cream pastry, starting a war with a pair of forks. Bishop stoically ate though he surreptitiously kicked anyone who dared encroach on Mara's choices, more for their own safety than out of chivalry for her, quite frankly, because he knew how possessive she was when concerning her meals. Outside the restaurant, they had yet _another_ argument about what sort of club they would be going to, considering Marcus and Thorne detested the clubbing scene for the most part. Opposition was squashed, alliances were made, and a tentative compromise was reached. They were to go to the newest, most exclusive club in town, which had a variety of entertainments including a concert by one of Magix's newest stars. 

Mara regarded the club with some trepidation, including the long line of prospective guests. She arched a brow at the boys. "Well, any of you have a plan?"

"Passes." Nathanial magically summoned brightly colored slips of plastic out of Mara's ear. "Having connections has its benefits." He was smirking.

The rest tackled him, each grabbing a pass. He huffed as he held the last pass; this one colored a lurid pink and slightly wrinkled. "How's that for gratitude? Boorish lots!"

Each of them thumped Nat on the back or arm, chorusing, "Thank you, Nat."

The interior of the club once they had passed by the golem of a bouncer was at both exhilarating yet oddly… disappointing. It wasn't anything particularly exciting in terms of design, save for floating dishes here and there and drinks zooming around. Mara tagged along with Bishop and W, who waded their way to the club's main hall where the concert was being held.

She lost sight of them and the music started, even as the lights dimmed in favor of flashing orbs that made for a dazzling light show but a deterrent for finding even Bishop's distinctive ponytail. Something had spilled on the floor; she tripped and couldn't catch herself properly. It was a moment of horror when she realized what could happen if she could not get up- Until someone caught her around the waist and helped her back to her feet.

"Thank you-" she began, or began to shout over the music, when she caught her rescuer's face.

"Gareth?"

He blinked and looked more closely at her. "Mara!"

"What are you doing here?" she shouted.

Gareth looked awkward. "It's a date!" he shouted back. "My mother set me up with a friend's daughter!"

"Why don't we get somewhere quieter to talk?" she suggested shrilly.

Somehow the two of them managed to wade through the rather enthusiastic crowd and to the back door. Though the walls still vibrated to the music, the noise was tuned down to a dull roar.

"So…" She turned to face him. Gareth was in full clubbing gear, a state Mara had never seen him in. She didn't know that he had a pair of black leather pants, especially _tight_ black leather pants that looked practically sewn onto his body. His shirt was a nicely tailored, billowing thing of white silk (she had managed to feel the sleeve when Gareth brought her back to her feet), with curious designs involving webs and netting of white thread on the material. His hair was slicked back, not let loose like usual, and Mara was tickled to see he had used eyeliner, black of course.

"So you have a date," she said slyly and was gratified to see him flush. "Where is she then?"

Gareth reddened further. "Still on the dance floor somewhere."

"She'll be pissed to learn that you're talking to me."

"Once again you think of how other girls will think."

"I make a point of it when we're dealing with boys as pretty as you."

"So you think I'm pretty?"

"Yes." Mara found herself smiling rather evilly at him. Then the glum mood returned. "Gareth- I want to- thank you for what you did for me this first semester."

"What?" He blinked at her innocently, no longer the sensuous creature he was dressed as but affable, mercurial Instructor Gareth, who was more at home in a pair of jeans and a black shirt than tight leather pants and eyeliner.

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have passed nearly as well," she said, looking up at him seriously. Even with her growth spurt, she hadn't caught up to Gareth. She had a sinking feeling that she wouldn't be able to.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm proud of you." He put his hand on her shoulder. "Very proud of you. You did well."

"But perhaps I have to do better," she finished for him.

He turned serious. "Yes, you do."

She shrugged. "It's all uphill, isn't it? But- thanks. Because it's been at least a little easier with you right there."

He put his other hand on her shoulder. "Mara-"

"So there you are, Gareth," called a vaguely exasperated female voice.

Two heads turned as one at the newest arrival. The newcomer was fairly tall (though a little shorter than Mara) and slim. She was conventionally pretty, with blue-black hair that curled softly around her pale face, though her bright blue eyes were shrewd and gleamed with a barely controlled fire. Her clothing matched Gareth's, if only in the style. Her black leather pants were tighter (if possible) and Mara tried not to wince at the very low neckline of a black lace and velvet bustier from which a pair of rather impressive breasts threatened to pop.

"I'll leave you two alone," Mara murmured. She nodded to the girl and went back to the dance floor.

Gareth made a token effort to grab her elbow but she shook him off, even as she heard the girl ask, shrilly, "Who is that?"

She used magic a bit unscrupulously, using a locator spell to dig out Bishop or W. Luckily they were still in the same room, which made the spell that much easier. She found Bishop, who was at the bar, ordering drinks. His more moderate attire immediately soothed the nausea that she hadn't quite realized.

He looked at her and immediately arched an eyebrow. She shook her head and ordered a drink for herself. Unlike most stories or movies, she didn't gulp it down but toyed with it, taking a sip after a while of contemplation. Then another hand took her elbow. Irritated, she raised it to pry free but she found herself looking at Bishop. Silently but inexorably, he took her to a quieter area, also toting a drink of his own.

"Who bothered you?" he asked, quietly.

"It's nothing," she grumbled.

"You make a horrible liar in these circumstances."

Mara took a longer swallow of her drink. It burned its way into her stomach, tasting like mint and chocolate. "I saw Gareth. With a girl."

"Ah." Bishop nodded, not looking at her but cradling his cup in his hands.

"A pretty girl," she admitted, forcing the words from her throat.

"You don't like thinking of Gareth in that way?" Bishop's eyes turned to her.

"Maybe," she admitted grudgingly. However, it was a bit more palatable that Bishop said it first.

"So you're jealous too."

Mara didn't bother looking at Bishop; she knew that he already knew the answer to that question.

"It's understandable," Bishop said tonelessly. "But sometimes it's odd to see you act this way. I never thought you were the jealous type."

"You don't know a lot about me," Mara said, almost inaudibly.

Bishop snorted his disdain and didn't dignify that with a remark. Mara could just feel the contempt oozing from his every pore, all part of his well-bred cynicism of the human heart and other such plebeian things like emotion. She took another sip of her drink, but this time she savored the taste, trying not to laugh.

"You know, I think you will mean more to Gareth than a thousand of those pretty girls," Bishop said, gruffly. "It's just conjecture, probably nonsense, but you're his student and his protégé. And you have much more to offer than any of them.

"Don't let it get into your head, either," he admonished her, as an afterthought.

She smiled at him, suddenly feeling much better, and he let his lips quirk into the slight suggestion of a smile that he favored so few with. He had to keep his dignity, after all.

* * *

Mara woke up the following morning without a hangover and at dawn. She almost expected Gareth to wake her up but his usual thunderous knocks didn't pound at the door. The silence rang hollowly in her ears as she methodically dressed. She ghosted through the empty hallways and began to run, heading along the usual trail up to the hill where most of her jogs ended. Once there, she stared out at the horizon, at a sun that had already risen. 

"I would have thought that you decided to stay in bed for once."

She didn't bother turning around from her seat on her usual rock. "You know me, I'm a creature of habit."

"Do you mind if I sit?"

She shrugged mutely and Gareth sat down by her. "You know," he began. "You're as infuriating as a little kid, sometimes." She shot him a dirty look and he laughed. "You see?"

He kept a respectable distance from her, pretending to look at the horizon also. Naturally he had changed into more comfortable clothing and his hair now curled around his face in familiar flowing ringlets. He said, with uncharacteristic bluntness and without preamble, "What is that you want from me, Mara? Is it that you have a crush on me?"

She blushed fiercely but said as calmly as she could, "No. It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

She shrugged and pulled out the words that Bishop had offered her, had used to put the turbulent feelings into one compact phrase. "I'm not used to seeing you that way, as a guy, with girls."

"You've seen me flirt." Gareth arched two perfect eyebrows.

"But not linger with one particular girl," Mara said. "It's- odd seeing you that way, especially that sort of girl." She grimaced slightly. "Her outfit didn't leave much to the imagination."

Gareth laughed. "True. But- she's just a date, to oblige my mother. I'm sure you can understand it."

"Understand it, yes," she said with a shrug. "Liking it is a bit harder."

"I'll try not to show you my social life then."

She swatted his shoulder. "Don't bother. It'll clear up. It's just a shocker. Or maybe it was just seeing all that cleavage and _you_ in tight leather pants."

Gareth started to laugh and despite herself, she joined in as they collapsed over each other in laughter, free and joyous. She wouldn't be telling Gareth any time soon but she realized that it wasn't merely for the beauty of the land she wanted to stay.

* * *

Gratuitous Author Babble (GAB): 

So Mara passes her midterms! Hooray!

Thank you so much, everyone, for your reviews! You don't know how good I feel upon receiving feedback from all of you!

Now the story will start getting darker as Mara starts to receive assignments as a full time student of Red Fountain. I've neglected some of the characters I've introduced but have no fear! All members of Mara's particular group will have their own mini story arc with Mara, in which sordid pasts will be revealed, personality traits dissected, relationships realized! Mara's going to be a very busy girl in the future.

I will have a Christmas story for her but I'll release it come December, or possibly late Thanksgiving, though technically it's around Christmas as of this chapter. I promise a Halloween story too, probably a quickie in which she has to explain Halloween to a rather baffled Nathanial. I'm also working on a special story crossover for this series that will be a standalone fanfic but it's still under construction.

So continue to follow along, my dear readers! Mara has an uphill battle and a very long way to go… I hope you continue to take inspiration from her and the world that she inhabits!


	14. Chapter 13: When Shadows Come

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: When Shadows Come

* * *

Mara rarely dreamt; Red Fountain curriculum did not encourage dreams, even if she was prone to having a regular schedule of fantasy. But she came to realize that in this particular dimension, what physical laws she knew applied to her own body's functions were easily twisted and put aside. 

That's why she dreamed about Domino.

She had been feeling vaguely guilty, as she hadn't been able to visit him for quite some time. After her first visit, she had only been able to go back twice (bearing tea) before numerous responsibilities (her studies being one) had forced her general imprisonment on school grounds. Something seemed different about this one, however.

He was far less gaunt in dreamland and his hair was neatly combed and styled for once, bound in a multicolored bun at the top of his head with a pair of jeweled sticks. Instead of his odd costumes of shoddy theatrical elegance, he was dressed in the "heroic" fashions of this world: a neatly tailored cream shirt with billowing sleeves and simple gold embroidery, a dark blue vest that reached the middle of his thighs with similar gold embroidery, plain black pants tucked into knee high gray boots adorned with a rather impressive pair of egg sized sapphires set in pale gold, with matching sapphires hanging from a wide sash of blue-black silk at his slim waist. He looked rather suave and befitting the "neo-wizard" image of Magix magic users.

However, he was… different. For once, Mara was frightened of him, for some inexplicable reason. Perhaps it was something in his odd eyes, the lack of wryness and cynicism that had granted him some degree of humanity, even with his disconcerting demeanor in general. There was nothing human in them now.

He was seated in a fancy (and rather fanciful) chair of gold leaf and blue velvet cushions. His long, white hands were currently in the middle of stuffing what looked like dried tobacco into a small gold and ebony pipe. The miniscule bowl and the mouthpiece were intricately molded and set with seed pearls. He lit the pipe with a careless flick of his fingers and took a deep breath of the burning leaves. Domino exhaled and Mara smelled burning sugar and cinnamon in the air.

"So," he said, gazing at her intently.

"Are you really Domino?" she asked without thinking.

A smile that was not a smile crossed the man's lips. "Smart question," he said in familiar wryness.

"So are you Domino?"

The smile disappeared. "Maybe."

Mara snorted in disgust. "This is the oddest dream I've had for a long time. Except for the time with the mountain of pink rabbit dolls…" She absently toyed with her shirt; she looked again and was startled to find that she was in an outfit that Miss Ruri would not have been ashamed to wear, except it was in pale blue and white, instead of the venerable woman's favorite scarlet and violets. She tugged at the pearl buttons on the astonishingly tight sleeves (no lace), feeling rather exposed with the equally tight pale brocade and gilt vest and abbreviated breeches (with stockings and a neat pair of pointed black leather shoes with plain brass buckles).

"This is not a dream," the man who looked like Domino said quietly.

"Then what is it?" Mara was not the type to let shock get the better of her.

"Your soul was wandering. I had to catch it before something worse did."

"My soul- wanders? Like- astral projection?" Mara had the dubious pleasure of living with a brother who was a conspiracy nut and a father who was obsessed with the paranormal. "My soul left its body?"

"It is only natural," he said with a shrug. "You have started to explore your magic. Now some of the natural protections built into you are starting to crumble, leaving you vulnerable."

"Well- thank you for rescuing me, if that's the case," she said somewhat awkwardly. "Is there any way I can stop this from happening again?"

"Build wards around your room and your bed. Ask Gareth for some." The man continued to smoke. Mara smelled burning leaves and ozone.

"Is that to keep the bad things out as well as me, in?"

"Smart child. Now go back to bed. Things are wandering around this time of year, things that are far too big for you." He wasn't smiling, despite the condescension and Mara felt her non-existent skin crawl.

She stepped back and felt the knob of a door in her right hand. She turned it slowly, feeling the furrows and dimples of what would certainly be a very elegant doorknob, and she felt herself being pulled back as the door went inwards and the world went upside down.

Mara woke up in the middle of the night, shuddering. Every hair on her body was standing upright and she felt _something_ passing just outside her window. It made every nerve sing in fear as her guts rebelled at the sheer wrongness of whatever haunted Red Fountain. Her fingers clenched in her blankets and she closed her eyes, concentrating on the warding W had taught her.

She thought of a thread, a single red thread that she put down and shaped into a spiral. But it was not a thread that warded her but the spiral, the thread the basis for a set of impenetrable walls that protected her in uncountable layers as the thread continued to grow and spin. Even as she protected herself, she realized that something was growing, a presence that was golden and venerable. It was authoritative and disciplined and it told the _thing_ that on no uncertain terms was it going to get in _here_.

The _thing_ paused and silently left, leaving Mara sweating and drained on her bed, even as she thoughtlessly continued to leave her wards up, the lingering remnants of a terror she had never known for a very long time.

The next morning, Mara found herself unsurprised at the sight of a number of students (mostly upperclassmen) looking either pale and trembling or gray with grim exhaustion. Gareth looked tired, with the set of faint lines between his eyebrows deeper than usual. Thorne looked half-dead, upon which Mara and the rest of his friends forced him to go to the Infirmary for some sleep before he passed out from lack of sleep and sheer nerves.

"Poor kid," Nathanial said, shaking his head. He looked unsettled but not from lack of sleep.

Mara looked at him. "I'm surprised that you're so sympathetic for once."

"I'm not heartless," he told her, giving her a hurt look. Then he became serious. "Thorne's from a family bound to the earth, to a planet that embodies it. He's frightfully sensitive. Especially to the _thing_ last night." He scowled.

"You felt it too?" Mara felt cold trickle down the back of her neck.

"Not quite. It was ignoring me but I certainly knew it was there, somewhere. It gave me a nightmare." Nathanial shuddered. "I'm not particularly strong magically; it's not part of my family for the males. The most I have is charisma and rhetoric. Fat lot of use that is."

"I suppose you can persuade it that you are unworthy of being devoured," Mara said lightly but as they met each other's eyes, they knew the horror that had haunted the school the night before.

Mara finally got enough courage to ask Gareth what had haunted the school after classes finished and she started studying with him. He was just as hard on her as ever and even worse on her in terms of magical theory, in which he was just as versed as martial arts.

The rote memorization gave her an opportunity to gently interject her question.

"What haunted Red Fountain last night, Gareth?"

Gareth froze and nearly shattered his pen. Ink dripped out of the broken shaft and stained his hand.

"I need to know, Gareth."

"There are things in this world that we don't have names for," he said, realizing what he had done. He set down his ruined pen and looked for something to clean his hand with.

Mara offered him her hand towel. As he wiped away the worst of the stains, she persisted. "Do you have any sort of idea what it is?"

"I wouldn't know exactly," he said tartly. "A passing nightmare, perhaps. Sometimes creatures are let loose when they should not."

"Then what is it doing just outside here? Shouldn't we take care of it?"

"Those things- are not tangible," he explained. "They are shadow and personifications of dark things. They have no body, no soul, no mind. The best we can do is ward them off for the moment."

Mara felt the shiver go down her spine again. "That doesn't sound good."

"It's dangerous," he admitted gruffly. "But we don't have the resources to destroy them. We do not fight the intangible." He gave her a gimlet glare, dark eyes piercing into her. "You are a tasty snack for such a creature," he informed her without inflection. "Keep up your protections. And never take this off."

He grabbed her hand and pressed something into it that burned like fire. She withdrew her hand quickly, stifling a yelp. As she opened her fingers, a dark red stone bound in silver wire rested in her palm, tied to a plain black leather cord.

* * *

Mara didn't fight Gareth's edict, always wearing the protective necklace (for that was what that was) under the neckline of her uniform. It eased her sleep, at least slightly, though the nightmare continued to haunt Red Fountain. The situation got so out of hand that the Infirmary had to distribute dreamless sleep tonics en masse and Mara wasn't the only one wearing a protective amulet. 

Thorne's condition steadily deteriorated, until he finally had to be committed to the Infirmary indefinitely.

"I'm all right," he protested as Mara and Marcus visited him to check on him on behalf of the others.

He looked haggard, his skin stretching along his angled face, his complexion having turned ashen almost overnight. Dark circles were under his eyes and his body shook in delicate tremors every so often. Thorne wasn't the only one put to bed rest, sadly, just in the worst condition. Mara was shaken as she exited the Infirmary not long after, with Marcus trailing after.

"Mara."

She paused in her steps, just realizing that the small, slight boy had stopped. Slowly, she turned to face him.

"What is it?" she asked, pitching her voice lower than usual.

She wasn't close to Marcus, or Thorne for that matter, as she could have been. She kept an eye on the both of them (the two of them needed it at times) and occasionally chatted with them but never had anything near the intimacy she now shared with Bishop and W, never mind what she had with Gareth. Both boys were quiet and close-mouthed and if they ever needed advice or aid, they typically went to others, not that she cared.

"Do you think that Thorne will be all right?" he asked, worry etched on his youthful face.

"The nurse said that he should be fine," Mara replied as reassuringly as she could. "Is anything wrong, Marcus?"

He shook her concern off as well as he could. "Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all."

And Mara knew that something was wrong instantly.

* * *

The shadow seemed to recede, giving everyone a bit of breathing room. Everyone was tense and the school never seemed to have the same levity it used to have. 

Chaucer went around armed to the teeth and everyone, even some of the teachers, all but dove out of his way as he stalked through the school. Gareth looked grimmer than ever. Nathanial was more subdued now, almost becoming a shadow of his true self, even though he occasionally unbent enough to make a wisecrack every so often. Mara became used to walking about with her gaze darting behind her shoulder. Thorne started to make some mild improvements.

By the end of the week of the madness, the source of the shadow was found. It was unfortunate enough that Mara had the greatest of luck in finding it.

At the end of class on Friday, Mara realized that Marcus hadn't left the lecture hall with the rest of his companions. Worried, she headed inside. The hall was empty but for her and Marcus, who had been seated in the back.

He was slumped over his desk and sleeping soundly. Asleep, he looked even more cherubic than ever but Mara could see looming black shadows under his eyes, stark on his pale skin. She tried to wake him up verbally but when he wouldn't respond to the stimulation, she put a hand on his shoulder to gently shake him awake.

And she found herself yanked into a maelstrom.

She had no focus, no anchor, in a howling dark storm that surrounded her and drowned her senses with endless shrieking. It was Purgatory, a thousand damned souls screaming, her eyes assaulted by visions too fast for her to register, her senses confounded.

Desperately, she sought who she was, what she was. _I am Mara Frey. I am a student at Red Fountain. I was born on Earth..._ There! She spotted a shining silver thread that led out of the maelstrom. It danced and bobbed, tossed aside by the howling winds of the storm. With unseen hands from an unseen body, she seized it, missing it several times as it just barely dodged out of her hands mockingly. But she grabbed it and ignored the searing pain it left on her incorporeal hands.

She barely held onto it before something on the other end _pulled_, yanking her from the storm that assaulted and clung to her, never wanting to let her go… She fell back and found herself a second away from landing flat on her rear right on the steps of the lecture seating. It was too late to make a good landing so she flinched as a sharp pain ran up her tailbone upon impact. Marcus had woken up and he stared at her, face white.

"It's all my fault," he whispered. "I almost got you too." And promptly he became hysterical.

* * *

Mara waited outside the Infirmary as the nurse examined Marcus. She still had her schoolbag with her and her hand held her slim grimoire. Luckily Gareth had come to the lecture hall just after Mara had gotten to her feet when Marcus had burst into tears. He didn't say anything but hustled them both to the Infirmary. The nurse had kicked her out when Mara had said that she wasn't hurt or otherwise emotionally traumatized. 

Gareth came out, looking tired but satisfied. "Well then… I would give you a lecture about going into others' minds without their permission or without protection," he said but quickly added upon seeing Mara's slowly growing ire, "But this was an unusual case so I'll leave that lecture when you do something phenomenally stupid, like losing your temper with me."

"What happened?" she demanded, too irritated to accept the weak apology.

"It turned out that Marcus was the cause of the nightmare, which was the thing haunting the school. Not in the conventional sense," he added hastily. "But in that he made it very easy and very attractive for a spirit like that to come to Red Fountain."

"Does it have to do with his depression?" Mara asked quietly. Her fingers had almost mindlessly dug into her satchel of school supplies and had dug out her personal grimoire, as she referred to it these days. Somehow the pages had fell open to the section she needed and from that she was able to decipher that Marcus had pulled her into his mind. She had only escaped by finding the link to _her_ mind and body, a very narrow escape, the book was quick to heavily emphasize.

The book had also detailed that thoughts and thought processes often were metaphorical as well and in deciphering the metaphor, deciphered the thoughts and emotions of the thinker. Marcus had been all but consumed with depression, almost to the point of suicide, emotions bottled up so long they fermented to something dark and almost evil.

"It is not my place to say," Gareth said softly. "But know that Marcus has a unique gift for a specialist. He's an Empath, almost like Thorne, who is a Sensitive." He offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet easily. "Let's get a drink, shall we? I think we both need it."

The "drink" he mentioned was hot chocolate, very sweet and rich. He added a few drops from small bottle of clear liquid. "I know very well that you drink when you go to Magix with your classmates," he said matter-of-factly, almost so much that Mara could almost pretend that it was an ordinary "talk" they were having, with Gareth not-quite-scolding her. "And I shouldn't condone it, but I think you can handle this much."

Mara picked up her mug of hot chocolate, taking a long sip. It was soothing and sweet, laced with a brief "snap" of peppermint. The warmth and the sweetness of the drink did a better job at soothing her than the "addition" Gareth had made. She leaned back in her seat in Gareth's small office, a closet of a room stuffed with a desk and three mismatched but very comfortable chairs. It was a luxury granted to him as a part time professor in two different courses, though a somewhat dubious one in Mara's opinion.

"So what's an Empath?" she asked curiously.

"An Empath is a person with the ability to sense and manipulate emotion," Gareth answered. "We all have that ability to a certain extent, mostly females are granted a slightly higher degree of that 'gift' than men as part of 'feminine intuition.' No offense to you."

"Of course. So what's a Sensitive then?"

"A Sensitive is someone who is… well, for a lack of a better word, sensitive to the environment surrounding him or her. It's a mixed bag of abilities, which includes the ability to see magic and other phenomena, to sense emotions and the general gist of thoughts."

"Can you explain to me what exactly happened?"

"I can't tell you what's up with Marcus, that's his business," Gareth said flatly. "But I can tell you what caused the nightmare." He cupped his mug in his hands, looking into it as he slowly turned the cup clockwise.

"Marcus is an untrained Empath and because of that, he started releasing his negative emotions when he was asleep. That attracted a malevolent but otherwise weak spirit that fed on him, in terms of raw power as well as negative emotions, and grew big enough to look for more food.

"Marcus unwittingly gave it a link into Red Fountain because he's a student here, so it simply was able to latch onto him, or more specifically his mind and emotions, and bypass the general wards of the school. The next victim was Thorne, who's Marcus's suite mate and a Sensitive barely trained. The nightmare withdrew into its own dimension often, which made it difficult for us to pinpoint it exactly and we couldn't trace it to Marcus alone."

"What happened to the creature?"

"Well, we blocked Marcus from it now and got his emotions under control. It's much easier to protect someone from something that you can identify than from an unknown enemy."

"But it's still out there." Mara's blood ran cold.

"Saladin will likely warn some of his colleagues to hunt it down before it causes more damage. It's not our concern."

Mara shuddered still, cold despite her hot chocolate. Gareth was right, especially in his implication that she could do nothing so worrying was pointless. Nevertheless, it still chilled her.

"School should be returning to normal fairly soon," Gareth said with a long breath. "You'd be surprised at how many things this school goes through each year. It takes a while to get used to." He had a shaky sort of smile on his face. "If you ever do."

* * *

Thorne was released on the same day as Marcus as everyone let out a collective breath of relief. Classes started again and the grinding pace of Red Fountain picked up. However, things were lighter as the boys started chattering about the semester mixer with Alfea, a highly anticipated event on the part of the freshmen, who were barred from most parties and celebrations for the beginning of the year. 

While most of the teachers at least turned a blind eye to gossip, some turned harsher than ever. Especially Chaucer.

"If I see one magazine or hear one voice mentioning 'party,'" he snarled to them. "I will personally flay each and every one of you alive." Though more than one boy was infuriated, not a furious mutter escaped the crowd.

Mara had the dubious pleasure that day of being Chaucer's lab assistant in stitches. As he said curtly before the class, "Magic doesn't always work in some planets and even in some regions around here. You may not be able to take fancy equipment on a mission or have someone on your team capable of healing. Surviving means doing some things you don't want to do."

Luckily this would only be a single class lesson.

Thankfully Chaucer healed her properly after his demonstration, though he darkly hinted at "giving them an experience." He made Mara clean up the scattered needles and thread and the odd bit of blood in his classroom, to her chagrin.

"You might be lucky," he said aloud as she put the needles in their proper compartments in long metal trays and put them in shelves to be magically sterilized. She wasn't particularly squeamish when it came to this lesson; her father was a doctor and had patched her and her brothers up from the time they were small children. That didn't make getting stitched up any more pleasant, on the other hand.

"Oh?" she asked casually.

"Sometimes you might be numbed to the whole sensation. Endorphins and stuff like that."

"I have been stitched up before, sir." She wiped off the desks with a hot damp towel. "My father is a doctor."

"I see… Small wonder you didn't flinch, Frey."

Mara privately added to herself that it was mostly for fear of Chaucer instead of the pain. His verbal flayings were beyond description. "I have a fairly high pain tolerance, sir."

"That sounds like arrogance, Frey."

"I am just stating the facts, sir." Considering she had a chunk of her hand gouged out, fractured her ribs twice, pulled numerous muscles, among other injuries, she felt fairly justified in saying that she had a fairly high pain tolerance, considering what she had had to do _after_ receiving a good number of those injuries.

After he dismissed her, she found Marcus just outside. He gave her a fearful look before quickly glancing away. She stopped right in front of him but didn't look at him. "I have no business in asking what's going on," she said quietly. "But I won't judge you if you need to talk."

And she walked off to her next class.

As promised by Headmaster Saladin, she was enrolled in a magical studies class, along with three other freshmen students who were showing early signs of magic that wasn't able to be curbed any time soon. Their instructor was a colorless and bland man of indeterminable age. Mara found herself bored to tears in the class but yet she had to keep herself alert, especially when she was nearly hit by a singularly nasty spell involving a mudball. She suffered through the exact spells W had taught her, only in a more tedious fashion as she stifled her boredom.

It was with great relief she left the class, heading up to her room to deposit her books before getting some dinner, which was a quiet (as quiet as things got, she supposed, at Red Fountain and her particular cohorts) affair.

She wasn't too surprised to see Marcus was absent from her unusually full table so in midst of the chaos that Nathanial and W seemed to constantly bring with them, she snuck out some food wrapped in a napkin.

Marcus came when she was studying on her own and leisurely munching on an apple. She closed her book slowly and said without turning her back, "Leave the door partly open. It's school policy."

She could practically feel Marcus' flinch. "If you're busy, Mara," he began, awkwardly.

She cut him off as she threw the core of her apple into the trash can with one smooth movement. "I'm done with homework. I have some time to kill." A vague lie, as Gareth was demanding she expand her night time reading considerably, but Marcus didn't know that.

Marcus drew into her room with great trepidation as he gently slid her door closed but left it open just a crack. He looked around for a chair. Mara provided him with the spare one and he eased into it, looking the very picture of unease. They exchanged pleasantries and Mara silently gave him her pilfered provisions when he admitted that he had skipped dinner, which he nibbled at listlessly.

Half an hour passed before they made any sort of progress. "Mara… I'm sorry for what I did," Marcus said quietly, starting to rip a roll apart.

Mara winced at the crumbs falling on the floor but shrugged nonchalantly. "You didn't mean it, I'm sure," she replied. "Don't waste food like that, please. You break my heart." She got from her seat and headed to her bed, digging through the covers and the pillows. As Marcus cleaned his hands off, she plunked a very worn out stuffed toy bear in his hands.

"That thing's taken a lot over the years but he's as stubborn as I am," she explained brusquely. He considered the ancient toy, giving a dubious look at its mismatched button eyes, ratty ears, and nappy fur that had once been rich brown but was now closer to gray.

"Make one comment and I'll kill you," she warned, taking her seat once more.

Marcus' lips twitched in something like a smile and his eyes warmed a little. "I won't. For my safety. I know what you do to Nat."

Mara snorted in derision. "It's for his well-being because he's going to get himself killed one day from his mouth."

Marcus let out a little laugh. "You really do care about him, don't you? Even if you don't call him by his nickname."

"I would prefer to call him Motormouth," she replied dryly. "And I wouldn't say 'care,' Marcus."

He tilted his head at her, blinking. "It doesn't seem so to me," he said innocently.

She flicked him between the eyes lightly without realizing, treating him just like Gregori or Nathanial when they overstepped the line with her. He winced a little. "Ow!"

"He's a bad influence on you, already," she scolded him.

He stared up at her with more hurt than she would have expected. She was taken aback, about to apologize, when he let a shaky smile cross his face. "You're just like my older sister," he said after a while. "She used to do that to me too."

Mara stared for a minute before leaning back and letting Marcus set the pace. It was done with almost literary perfection as he let everything spill from him in a slow, steady stream of words.

"My mother died when I was born from a rare medical condition," Marcus began. "My father was devastated by her loss and would have nothing to do with me for the first few years of my life. That wasn't unusual, on the other hand, because I was supposed to be raised by a nanny and later a governess.

"But it's lonely, no matter how kind the help is… My sister started taking care of me by the time I started crawling. She was my elder by eleven years. And she was my mother, rather than my sibling. I adored her.

"My father started to take notice of me to make me his heir when I turned seven. My sister wasn't pleased with him, not that she wanted the throne, but that he had ignored me for all those years. Tension grew between them slowly and unceasingly over the years… before it all exploded. When I was ten, they had a horrible, horrible argument one night and then… she left.

"She went to our mother's kin in another kingdom, a family who disdained my father and were perfectly happy to accept my mother's children." At this point, Marcus stopped and sighed. Mara reached for an apple and started to peel it methodically before slicing it and gently setting some before him. He nibbled at the fruit slowly.

"I'm not boring you, am I?" he asked suddenly, almost fearfully.

Mara shook her head, coring the last piece of apple and not saying anything more. Marcus looked rather taken aback by her reaction and it took a few moments for him to regain his composure enough to continue.

"She and I continued to correspond, though in secret. I missed her terribly. It was very, very lonely being in the castle. Everything reminded me of her, and when my father ordered traces of her erased, what was gone only reminded me of what should have been there. My father is hardly an emotionally supportive parent as well, even now." Marcus had a weak, faintly nauseated smile on his face.

"When I turned fourteen, I got into my own argument with my father. It was just as vociferous and just as violent as the one he had with my sister not four years before. I stormed out of the palace as well, ready to be disowned. I didn't care about ruling. I didn't care about my obligations to the man who physically fathered me but not one thing after that.

"I ran out to a lake where my sister and I often played. I waited for her there because she promised that if anything happened, she would whisk me away to our mother's relatives. I just needed to call her. However… a storm started on the lake. I waited, on a cliff that overlooked the deepest waters, with wind and rain lashing at me.

"There was a legend about the cliff I was on. Hundreds of years before, a princess of my bloodline had thrown herself from the cliff after discovering that her betrothed lover had died of an illness. It was false and he discovered her suicide. He threw himself from the cliff as well. But somehow… he survived, on the wings of a great swan that rescued him from the waters, even as he witnessed a skull waiting for him in the depths. The legend had it that the soul of the princess had left two spirits behind. One was a swan who rescued anyone in danger of drowning in the lake's waters, especially in a storm, for she wants her tragedy repeated ever again. The other was a wraith-creature that lured and claimed anyone, but especially young men and women, who came near the lake, for jealousy of a young woman's beauty and for the hatred of the man who had caused her such grief.

"I thought I saw my sister waiting for me, but she was wrapped in a long cloak. I drew closer, shouting her name, and she seemed to smile and beckon to me. But when I drew close enough to see her, I saw nothing but a skull under the cloak. I tried to run away but my feet were rooted to the ground and two claw-like hands instantly seized my wrists. I was clutched against the creature that began to laugh, a cackle that swept all hope and all joy from my mind and sounded like the very music of the Underworld.

"And, clutched together, we fell from the cliff, to the furious waters below, where I would drown, another victim of the lake-wraith. Then… as we fell, I saw behind us, the wings of an enormous swan. There was a horrible wailing scream that filled my ears as the waters of the lake then closed over my head and I knew nothing more.

"When I awoke, I was on the shore of the lake. The waters were quiet, the storm over. Waves gently lapped against my body and the body of my sister. Her body was on mine, her arms loosely wrapped around me protectively. She was- dead." Marcus took in one long, rattling breath as he wrapped his arms around himself, forgetting the battered bear, his face a mask of pain.

"Oh, how I screamed when I discovered she was dead. I lost my mind and it was only with difficulty they took me away from her body, sedated me. I woke again in my own bed. I thought it was a dream, just one horrible dream… But it wasn't.

"She had a state funeral not long after and I found out what happened. It turned out that she had done a terrible thing, for she had exchanged herself for me, put her life in place of mine. She could not destroy the wraith; she had not the strength, but she hurled herself from the cliff, pushing me from the creature's deathly embrace and letting herself be drowned instead of me."

Tears were welling up in Marcus' enormous brown eyes. His voice trembled and his slim shoulders started to shake. "Why, Mara?" he asked, sobbing. "Why did she have to be taken?"

Mara then rose from her chair and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. He latched onto her as she stroked his hair gently and rubbed his back as he wept. His tears subsided but for a harder, deeper grief.

"I see her in my dreams sometimes," he said, voice thick. "She's frowning at me. She's angry. It was my fault anyways. I should have been more careful. I shouldn't have left. She wouldn't have come for me then…"

Mara gently pressed a tissue in his hands before speaking for the first time that evening. "It is not my place to say, but as an elder sister, I can think of why she might be frowning at you." She gently reached out to wipe his tears, to prompt him into blowing his nose. At least Marcus couldn't cry prettily; he was just like her younger brother back in the day, all red eyes and blotchy face. Luckily he took the hint and blew his nose with the fervor of a foghorn.

"I would die for my own little brother," Mara said softly. "But I know that it's a selfish thing sometimes, to die for someone, because we leave them behind to cry for us. So if I must die, I hope I can leave enough strength for him so that he can live and be happy, with the time I gained for him… Perhaps your sister is frowning because you're not happy."

"How can I be?" he whispered.

Mara gently smoothed back his sandy hair. "By forgiving yourself for her death, which was never your fault to begin with, I think you can let her be free." He fell into her arms again and she continued to hold him, as tears came from him again, as he properly cried, Mara thought, for the first time in two years.

* * *

Gratuitous Author Babble (GAB): 

Here ends another of the classmate story arcs! We've already covered Bishop. W will have a mini-arc because he has the distinction of being Mara's first magical tutor. So far we have Nathanial, Gregori, and Thorne. Gregori will probably have a mini-arc too, as he has had his turn with Mara.

Speaking of Nathanial… I think now is about the time I finally address him. Throughout this whole story I've been surprised by the number of readers who don't particularly like him! And I thought he was a _likeable_ character. All right, all right, so I laid it on a bit thick on his particular affability as well as his silver tongue. I suppose this is not a liked trait with many of you. However, he does rub quite a few people the wrong way in the story as well! As one of his friends would say, dryly, "Nathanial is the type of guy who, upon opening his mouth, instantly sparks an internal debate on the merits of punching him or shaking his hand." Apparently many of you would prefer to punch him.

Time will only show how Nathanial will work out though he does have chemistry with Mara as her character foil, chemistry not necessarily meaning romance, however.

Oh! And I'm reinstating the fiction contest. In fact, I officially announce the start of _several_ contests, each one more interesting than the last (hopefully). I won't have a website but I will put them up on my lookup for anyone to read, but will especially be for my dear fans in the Winx Club section.

The first contest is a one-shot for Winx Club and it's an open-topic contest! So feel free to indulge in femslash between the club girls or an introspective character essay about the witches; anything goes! Writers, ready your pens and laptops! The deadline is September 30! Good luck!


	15. Chapter 14: Party's Starting

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Party's Starting

* * *

Once the whole matter with Marcus started clearing up, Mara found herself with a little bit of breathing room, before having that taken away as well with the coming of the mid-year ball at Alfea. Freshmen were barred from formal events for an entire semester as part of their education and as sort of an unofficial probation for those "official students" (Mara now being counted as one meant bypassing such a period). The more fashion conscious of her classmates were pleased, preening as much as any girl, with those less concerned of such things more excited about the prospect of being in contact with the fairer sex after so very long. Mara didn't care (notably about the latter for obvious reasons) and in fact was prone to be more irritable of late. 

Her breasts had grown, at least enough to have definite weight and shape, an annoyance for an active female, especially when she had to eventually succumb to every woman's curse every month. Luckily she was discreet about such things and if anyone else ever found out, they were wise enough to get out of her way when she had a "mood." She had an unexpected ally in Miss Ruri, who gave priceless advice and several herbal remedies that made life just that much easier for a female warrior who wasn't born under a lucky star.

Regardless of her changing body, Mara was determined to remain a student of Red Fountain. When it came down for attire for the ball, uniforms were enforced, with new cloak brooches for those freshmen who had passed their first test of weaponry in finding their crystals. It made some of the students groan as they were forced to pack away or cancel designer clothing. Mara, on the other hand, found nothing wrong with wearing her uniform (she had fought tooth and nail for the right to "officially" wear it) and was especially pleased to be wearing her new cloak brooch with its midnight blue jewel carved from the same crystal that was now embedded in her blades.

She was startled to find that yet another "special exception" had been made for her, however.

Mara found herself almost silly with girlishness when considering her new brooch, or perhaps it was more of a magpie's glee. It was an embarrassing feeling and she had to sternly warn herself that uniforms and pins meant little in the long run. She still had an uphill battle left. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but admire the awarded jewelry, most officially handed to her by Instructor Hellin, who seemed to wryly understand her pride in it. He knocked her on her rear on her scheduled spar with him not long afterwards however, his personal admonishment that compounded her more practical side.

It was when she was headed into her room to clean up as well as quickly polish the awarded brooch (for her head was still flushed in that small victory), that she found the uniform on her bed. The material was very similar to her regular uniform, the pattern almost identical, but this one ended in a very modest, knee-length skirt. Mara's brow furrowed. Gareth knocked lightly at her open door a moment later, finding her standing at her bed, holding the uniform, still covered in sweat from their run (he was now training her in the afternoons she didn't have classes or weapons practice with Instructor Hellin).

"Mara, you forgot your sneakers… What is that?"

"I thought you could tell me," Mara said dryly, turning to look at him and brandishing the odd costume.

Gareth stared and started to guffaw in laughter, leaning in the doorway. Mara's eye twitched. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

Gareth was wheezing now. "Oh, I wonder who thought of this one! Giving you a skirt!"

Mara twitched, not amused. "Well, I'm not going to wear it," she said tartly, setting the dress aside and taking off her shoes.

Gareth stared at her. "Are you sure about that?" he asked her.

Mara smiled thinly as she undid her hair from its claw clip. It really was getting too long these days; it grew as fast as bamboo during monsoon season. "Codatorta told me that he didn't want to give me any 'exceptions,' right? I'll give him a reason not to give me one this time around."

* * *

Nathanial was baffled when he couldn't find Mara anywhere, though even W, notorious for being late, had come over to his particular group consisting mainly of Marcus, Thorne, Bishop, Gregori, and himself, as well as a few other friends who were acquaintances of nearly everyone present. He blinked in confusion as a slim black-haired boy who was naggingly familiar came over, settling next to Bishop. 

"Sorry I was late," the stranger said. Though the voice was a little too high for a boy and a little to low for a girl, "he" was a "she." Mara Frey, to be exact.

Nearly everyone's eyes bulged. Mara really didn't make too much of a secret of the fact that she was becoming somewhat endowed (that being a generous term in reality; she was not going to be a blessed woman any time in the near future) on top, not that she was flat as an ironing board to begin with (a fact that her friends were careful not to allow into her formidable hearing). But with little effort, she looked nearly as masculine as the rest of them, perhaps more, considering Thorne's delicately effeminate features. Perhaps it helped that she had cut her hair from the pageboy bob it had been growing into and had slicked it back for the evening, which only emphasized her strong features, including her decidedly stubborn yet rounded chin and jaw.

Mara grinned at them, running her hand through her hair one last time to set her gelled spikes. "I didn't care for the girls' uniform they designed for me," she said, before laughing in their faces, unable to hold back her amusement at their expressions. Several pairs of eyes quickly averted from a suspicious spot on her body, flushes quickly blooming on hidden faces.

"You're damn creepy like that," W grumbled aloud. He seemed nonchalant but a suspicious blush was along his cheeks. "A girl should look like one."

"But you don't consider me one," Mara retorted with acid sweetness as the rest of the boys regained their composure one by one.

W paused and looked awkward. Nathanial laughed and said blithely, "Well… it's not that hard to do that at the moment."

Bishop slapped him across the head sharply, glaring daggers. Mara shrugged. "Of course." She tapped her chest lightly with her palm. "I made sure of it, to be honest."

"Then why are you ragging on me, woman?" W demanded, with just a little bit of dangerous heat in his tone.

"Because someone has to make you feel embarrassed for what you say. Nathanial isn't the only one here with foot-in-mouth syndrome."

"Correction, Nat knows perfectly well what he shouldn't say. He says it anyway," Gregori said innocently.

"And who didn't know that?" W retorted dryly, to Nathanial's chagrin.

Before a fight could break out (not likely), the intercom boomed with Codatorta's gravelly voice, ordering them into the shuttles assigned to a majority of the school. Apparently a few had gone off to Alfea already on levi-bikes, granted special permission from Saladin himself. Mara would have envied them if she had any particular skill in levi-bike riding. She had started preliminary training (a bit later from her more physically inclined classmates in favor of her academics) but it was hard going and not even Gareth could truly tutor her in it. At least she hadn't had a crash. Yet.

The group headed along with the small sea of Red Fountain students to the awaiting ships, splitting up by class and assigned squads. It was too early in the second semester for Mara to be assigned to a squad of four (or five in some cases), but it wasn't another sign of probation, for squad rosters were yet to be announced for a majority of the freshman. They buckled in and with a rumble, the behemoth moved upwards with astonishing grace, leaving the ground behind.

Yes, on some levels, Mara thought. Earth didn't measure up to this at all.

* * *

Alfea was a fairy tale confection of a place, as the ships set down. Mara was glued to the window, glancing at the rosy crystalline towers topped with lapis lazuli, with gates of purest crystal and green lawns like immense green velvet cushions, marked through with sandy paths of palest tan. The windows were lit with many cheerful golden lights, glimmering in the softened black-violet darkness that hovered just above the palace complex. 

But before she was caught too long with that beauty, she pulled herself back by reminding herself that she might have once gone here. That was enough to send shivers down her spine and she drew her gaze away from the quartz palace quickly, touching at her stiffened hair in an uncharacteristic and unconscious action of nervousness. She got out of her seat with the others, soon becoming lost in the swarm of Red Fountain students, seeming to be just another boy, albeit a slightly effeminate one. _She_ didn't know but to an outsider's point of view, Mara Frey was a slim but well-built young man with an oddly soft face and curiously shaped lips, a thoughtful and slightly unsettling expression in his dark eyes. There were those prettier than this particular young man but nevertheless, those who saw this particular specimen in a sea of eligible and prospective heroes would instantly be enthralled, if not oddly repelled by the harsh and unusual beauty of the round face with its curiously proportioned features.

The students marched into a hall with white marble floors covered in stylized vines of hammered gold and onyx. A dozen crystal chandeliers that held faceted jewels of many colors, not just the requisite water clarity of diamonds, hung from the ceiling paneled with many intricate tiles of rose quartz and pale blue marble. Dance music filled the ethereal halls and a hundred different nymphs of a hundred different beauties inhabited them.

They were greeted by a matronly woman with snow white hair and a rather business like dress-suit of periwinkle blue and lavender, introduced as Miss Feragonda. Mara found herself indifferent to the woman and went away as soon as the pleasantries were done and over with, losing sight of her friends as they mingled with the fairy girls. Nathanial already had a small mob around him, a stunning smile gracing his sensuous lips. Even W was talking with a girl, a sylphlike brunette with bright blue eyes that seemed too large for her face, who was positively petite in comparison to W's larger, rougher frame.

Mara lingered at the edges of the dancing, not caring very much in the amorous pursuits and activities her classmates were so fond of. Some girls were giving her appraising looks and she granted them very polite smiles. She was hardly deceiving herself about her appearance, after all.

"You seem rather lonely," a gentle, slightly high-pitched voice said.

She turned to see an elegant, almost impish featured young man. A long mane of luxurious mahogany hair reached almost to his waist, his ears delicately and rather whimsically tapered. He was dressed simply, cream shirt, green vest, brown slacks… and a red bow tie of all things. Enormous almond shaped eyes the color of spring leaves gazed at her kindly. Those eyes- they captured her, ensnared her so… She couldn't resist but managed to break away after a few moments of silent struggling and even then she yearned to look back.

To distract herself and remembering her manners, she bowed a little to him. "Thank you, sir."

"Oh, none of that nonsense!" he said, waving it away. "I am no one of great importance. Only a professor."

A ghost of a smile flickered on her face. "Professors are gods in school," she said. "They say and we obey."

His eyes danced in amusement. "True, I must admit. Palladium at your service." He bowed to her.

"Mara Frey at yours." She bowed again in return.

"May I ask this dance?" he asked, offering his hand.

Mara arched her eyebrows. "Are you sure of this? Dancing with a Red Fountain student though she is female?"

Palladium chuckled, tenor voice deepening for a moment. "Madam… I am never more sure."

Mara kept her neutral expression and took his hand. "You are too kind, Professor."

They waltzed to a ballad, while all the others were slow dancing about them, merely swaying for the most part. Mara caught a glimpse of Nat twirling a rather pretty looking girl with long gold hair in a most fantastic ensemble of brilliant sunset orange silk accentuated with turquoise blue and silver before the Professor also twirled her.

"I see strange things for you, Miss Frey," he said with a low voice, his tenor dropped a few octaves. He continued to move with her, his hand on her waist tightening, but not threateningly. His green eyes seemed sharper yet dreamier at the same time.

Mara stared at him, her voice suddenly gone. She moved with him automatically, like a doll or a marionette under his command.

The Professor only smiled at her, a curve of his sensuous lips. He didn't seem nearly as approachable, as Mara realized just how arrogantly he tilted up his pert chin upon his long neck, how elegantly those once whimsical ears were tapered, how keen his green eyes were. He was an elf, one of Tolkien's creatures, distant from humanity despite resembling it, a creature beyond all mortal comprehension. A mere mortal like her could never understand him.

"You already fight, but is it fate?" he said, the music now fading to mere fuzzy noise in the background. "Perhaps it is already fate that you fight convention…"

Mara bristled at this. She did _not_ appreciate being pushed around, thank you very much (to Domino's constant wry amusement). Perhaps sensing her simmering belligerence behind her carefully bland expression, the elf smiled at her, though it was a faint depiction of emotion, a long dead portrait's expression.

"The road is already before you and the board ready. You control and are being controlled. You may break, you may triumph… but to an end, eventually," Palladium mused. "Watch your heart, swordlady. You may ride with men, but do not forget you are a woman." He stopped and lifted her hand to his lips to kiss, warm air brushing against her knuckles before soft, cold lips touched the back of her hand.

"But not merely a woman," Mara said, finding her voice again. Her hand felt full of pins and needles; she fought the urge to shake them out.

Palladium laughed, breaking the spell. "I am thus rebuked! Though I have had much pleasure from your excellent dancing, do you mind if I repay you with a glass of punch?"

Mara didn't want to admit it out loud but cold sweat clung to her under her bodysuit and her mouth was rather dry. "Once again, you flatter me, Professor," she said politely enough as she worked her hand free of his. "But punch does sound good, thank you."

Palladium laughed again, his voice like silver bells as he snapped his fingers, summoning them two delicate glasses of amber liquid. "To-" He glanced at her after he had handed one of the cups to her.

"To freedom," Mara said, lifting her glass. Luckily her grip was still strong; dropping one of the flutes would not be particularly good.

"To a forked road," Palladium said, and they clinked their glasses together and drank.

The drink was pleasantly gold and sweet, reminding Mara vaguely of strawberries and fizzy cider, but much nicer. She took another long sip, savoring the taste.

"Plumeria nectar," Palladium said. "Finest stuff in the world. Do enjoy yourself." He winked at her and exited with a bow.

Mara wandered to the edges of the room now, looking for a chair as she took a long drink from her glass. It seemed like she was drowsing, so she wasn't too surprised when a hand just brushed at her back, in a strategic location. The moment just after, she whirled around and calmly splashed the offender with the remnants of her drink, though she rather crossly did so.

"If you're looking for a bra strap," she said coldly. "You're not likely to find it. You also owe me a new glass of punch."

A somewhat chagrined looking Prince Gabriel faced her. He had dodged out of the way just in time to miss drenching his face but his boots were sticky with plumeria nectar. To Mara's profound disgust, he was as handsome and striking as ever, a creature out of her favorite anime series with his blue-black hair and mismatched black and silver eyes.

"Yes?" she asked even more frostily.

"I was only attempting to wake you," he said, stiffly formal but no sign of dislike on his face. Mara was instantly suspicious.

"I assure you, I wasn't sleeping," she answered, frowning. "There is no need to be so concerned on my behalf. I am sure that you have… other business to attend to here."

"I don't need an excuse to talk to a fellow classmate, do I?" he asked, eyebrows arching.

"True," she replied after a moment.

"Would it trouble you if I asked you for a dance?"

Mara stared at him for a very long moment. The first (and only) response that came to mind was: "You realize how that would appear to the Alfea girls?"

A wry smile crossed Gabriel's face. "Yes, I know. And it is still up to you."

"Very well then," Mara said, surprising herself. She slowly levered herself out of her chair, brushing off invisible dust from her uniform.

Gabriel was a good dancer; Mara already knew this but somehow, it irked her. When she put her hand in his, she had to fight back a frown of disgust; his hand was rather soft and cold. His free hand settled solidly on her waist, firm but not overwhelming. They didn't bother with the flourishes and twirls of the very old-fashioned courtly dances they learned in class but instead swayed most of the time, making chillingly polite small talk about classes and other inconsequential things. During this time, both assessed each other as surreptitiously as possible.

Despite his soft fingers, Gabriel was a warrior, or at least one in the making. Mara's hand felt muscle beneath his bodysuit and cape and he moved with an assassin's stealth (a hardly uncommon thing, however, in a school of warriors). Honestly, though, he was a prize for almost any girl, Mara admitted, looking at his face. She considered his long black hair, silken and so dark that it glimmered with highlights of startling ice blue, framing a nicely proportioned face that delicately hovered between effeminate beauty and classically handsome, brilliant and long-lashed mismatched eyes of raven black and limpid silver, along with a slim and youthful body. He even smelled nice, as Mara scented his cologne, a curious fragrance that had a touch of pine and something sharper, yet with an undertone of something vaguely dark and sweet that was unlike anything she had ever smelled in Earth male fragrances.

She almost might have liked him. Just almost. But she read nothing in his curious eyes, seeing glossiness better suited for gemstones and tumbled rocks. This wasn't what she wanted and she squashed whatever silly teenage romantic personality that was squealing in her mind into oblivion. Romance, she told herself, was not for her.

Near the end of the song, Gabriel said neutrally, "I am afraid I have had the wrong impression of you and that has led to some… tension between us. I apologize."

Mara had to fight the urge to goggle at him in shock. She met his eyes squarely and said softly but honestly, "I accept your apology." She would accept his apology and forgive him (no matter how difficult it was) but she wouldn't be forgetting him anytime soon.

They bowed to each other politely after the dance and drifted away in opposite directions. Mara mulled over the events of the last few minutes as she headed out to the veranda that gracefully embraced the ballroom. The cool night air hit her face as she leaned against a marble and silver rail, gazing at a smooth expanse of a lawn that slowly grew to forest.

She realized Bishop was nearby the moment before he touched her shoulder lightly. He was one of the few she allowed even that touch; she had almost dislocated Nathanial's arm after he had the temerity to touch her when she was operating on little sleep and hard-wired reflexes. It was Gareth's fault, really, for he had already taught her several rather nasty moves to counter an attacker from behind as well as a certain wariness, almost paranoia.

As Gareth was prone to saying rather cynically, "Better paranoid than dead."

Bishop was bearing two glasses of a red drink, neatly held in his free hand. He mutely offered her one; her hands wrapped around the delicate crystal stem and brought the rim to her lips. Her nose immediately scented pomegranate and strawberry. At the first sip, the drink was pleasantly tart with a hint of something creamy as an aftertaste.

"Finding the girls not to your taste?" Mara finally asked sardonically, giving him a darkly amused look.

Bishop grunted and gave her a disgruntled glance out of the corner of one gray-violet eye. "There was a reason why I asked you to come with me to meet my family," he rumbled darkly.

Mara laughed quietly. "My apologies, I forget. You like a woman with substance." She added with no little self-deprecation, "I'll give you the substance but I'm not sure about the woman."

Bishop reached over, as if to embrace her, before giving her a sharp slap upside her head. It wasn't a gentle blow and Mara could have sworn she saw stars for a minute.

"Don't give me that bullshit," Bishop muttered.

Mara rubbed the sore back of her skull with chagrin. She set her glass down carefully. "You didn't have to enforce that so violently," she told him dolefully.

He ignored her for a very long moment, studying the lawn and forest beyond. Mara shook her head and stood by him. The wind teased a bit of scent to her and it was uniquely Bishop's, spicy and vaguely metallic and bitter, almost like tears. She leaned into him a little, letting their shoulders touch, before remaining a comfortable distance from him. It was better that way.

* * *

A few hours later, Mara leaned back in her seat her room, changed from her uniform into a comfortable pair of pajamas. A cup of tea was on her desk and Crono was showing her some files she had requested, all the while playing a special mix list that Gregori had made for her. 

She brought her fingertips together, steepling her hands. That ball had brought up far too many issues for one night and her mind was still reeling, even though she was calm, admittedly a false sort of calm. Palladium was like Domino, almost sinister behind the eccentric face, though Mara would far better prefer the professor's company to the professional hacker's, at least in regarding affability.

"What troubles you, Mara?" Crono asked after a moment.

She glanced up and met his eyes. Crono had become far friendlier over the last few days, though he still insisted on jibing her, sometimes a little too accurately for comfort. Mara found herself just slightly startled over this turn in personality, this twist that was not possible in a computer program. Or was it?

"It's nothing."

"Which I have heard translates to, 'everything is wrong, you jerk.'"

Mara was startled into a laugh. "I'm not that bad, Crono."

He favored her with a heavily ironic look. "Spare me, Mara. I may not be a female and empathic, but I do know lies."

Mara gave him a look of her own. "Crono, don't cross the line with me," she said warningly. "I'll turn you off."

Crono looked scornful. "Don't be a hypocrite. If you want me to trust you, you have to trust me too."

"I do trust you, what the hell are you talking about?"

Crono sighed. "Domino didn't explain." He took a deep breath. "I gain power and skills through you, Mara. I'm integrated with you, or at least what you give me, through your words, your expressions, you're actions. In other words, I become more life-like the more you share life with me."

Mara blinked, caught completely off guard. "You mean- I'm bonded to you?" she whispered.

Crono nodded. "In a manner of speaking, yes." He brought up a website. "In essence, I am your pixie. I understand this is a strange term according to Earth definition, but I am not just a mere minor fae. Well, I am not one yet."

"Don't fairies only have pixies?" Mara demanded. Her hands started to shake as she sat bolt upright.

Crono looked serious. "All magical beings form bonds with each other," he informed her. "I may be born of data and equations, but you cannot deny that I am becoming a sentient creature."

Mara had to admit he was right. He was becoming much more- human-like, though his original self was astonishing complex. There was something- different, though, about him. "Will you ever have a physical body then?" she asked.

He looked sad for a moment. "No, I'm afraid not. I'm a program, no matter how sentient. I cannot just access a body." He added, attempting to be optimistic, "But I am much sturdier and easier to transport this way, you must admit."

Mara touched at the monitor, brushing by his face. "I'm sorry," she said simply. "I'm sorry."

He managed to smile for her, and Mara saw tears forming in his eyes and slowly trickling down his cheeks.

* * *

A/N: Whew! That took way too long! This chapter ended up being a lot darker than I intended it to be, unfortunately. My apologies for not updating as well, faithful readers! I've been frightfully busy with school and writer's block didn't help either. 

This chapter was a lot more wrenching to write, because it hints at so damn much. Bishop and Mara's relationship is a tricky one, because even though they're such good friends already, they hover between romance and friendship. Admittedly, they are very compatible for each other, as of now; don't count on any guarantees in the future. And now, I put in a bit of Winx canon: Mara's pixie!

Didn't think it would be Crono, huh? Of course not. Crono's actually rather fun to write; his needling sense of humor is too reminiscent of the people I'm now living with, I'm afraid.

And yes, my contest is still on hiatus, I'm afraid. I think I will have to cancel it, actually, due to lack of interest.


	16. Chapter 15: Green Envy and Red Blood

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: Green Envy and Red Blood

* * *

Mara was in trouble. She dove out of the way in the nick of time, thankful that her short cropped hair was further confined by a bandanna. Her weapons went up as wicked blades came whistling at her. She worked her shorter blade from the lock, shoving her opponent's hands upwards with her sword as she attacked with the dagger. The enemy was clever, though, using the unorthodox hooks of his weapons, tangled from the lock Mara had forced him into, to form a single bladed unit, swinging that at her, making her dive again for cover.

Her legs swung out; her opponent slipped and crashed into the dirt alongside her. By the time she got her longsword in hand and at his throat, a hook was at her own.

"Damnation, Frey," Bishop growled. "You can't use hand-to-hand forever." He was panting, his face smudged with dirt.

"If I didn't, you would have gutted me," Mara retorted, her breathing a little labored. They untangled themselves and got to their feet, brushing dirt off their body suits after sheathing their weapons. Gareth was stalking over to give them vent his spleen on them both in regards to their weaponry skills.

The sparring match was her idea, surprisingly, when she had asked Bishop, out of the blue one day, to spar with her, to sharpen her skills and to liven up her exercises. It hadn't been as easy as she had thought, for the rules of Red Fountain regarding inter-student fighting were particularly strict, dating back to the days when princes of feuding kingdoms and clans had to attend Red Fountain together. There was also the danger inherent in unsupervised battles between upper and lowerclassmen.

Gareth had "offered" to supervise for them, though Mara figured he was slightly peeved at her being so cavalier about sparring with students of other martial disciplines. It had turned out for the best, really, for Bishop was one of the best to spar with, at least regarding weapons. It wasn't necessarily his skill; Gareth had wiped the floor with him easily more than once in front of Mara. Bishop's choice of weaponry was not necessarily out of blind ignorance but if truth be told, his style of bladed hooks had many flaws. This had forced Bishop to train himself to a caliber beyond many of his peers with more conventional weaponry, forcing him to be stronger, faster, and more quick-witted, just to keep his own.

Mara found herself admiring him even more these days, though her feelings about him grew more troubling the more events they attended together. It was different in the daylight, when they swapped friendly insults or physical blows. At night, in crystalline ballrooms and crowded clubs, things became different.

Mara knew that she cared for Bishop deeply, that much was very easy to admit. Unfortunately, things were becoming sticky. Bishop was not a physically affectionate male, yet the ways he treated her- seemed to ring of something a little more carnal than brotherly love. She shook her head, retying her bandanna. A relationship was not what she needed right now! It was complicated enough with her studies and her training as is.

Bishop was nodding stoically as Gareth criticized his footwork. It seemed Gareth was even harder on the older boy, but then again, Bishop was more grounded in the basics Mara had still yet to learn. In a year, perhaps she would be in Bishop's position. It wasn't a completely horrible thought, as she let a smile cross her lips.

* * *

Team assignments were going to be announced, something that sent the freshmen into a frenzy. Of course, these were only temporary, as the freshmen would not be allowed on official missions until their sophomore year. They would instead participate in shadowing upperclassman missions. These were to build camaraderie between the students, to force them to work together, before circumstance forced them to, something that often ended in disaster.

Mara was vaguely apprehensive about who would be the members of her squad but resigned herself to adapting to whatever life hurled at her. That was the best way of surviving Chaucer's affections, anyways, as well as the "affections" of any other teachers.

Nevertheless, she found herself caught in the fervor the day of announcements. She waded through the considerable crowd around the holographic message boards just outside of the cafeteria. Her heart started to pound and her mouth became dry as she squinted to make out the glowing names neatly arranged on the translucent blue screen.

There! Squad ten. She frowned and read through the names surrounding hers. Marcus. Thorne. Gregori.

Squad Leader: Nathanial.

Mara was startled by a sudden wave of bitterness, so dark that she bit her lower lip. She was jealous, she realized, swallowing with some difficulty as she waded through the crowd, cries of jubilation or dismay now filling the air.

Gareth was waiting at the edge and he didn't seem too surprised by her expression. "Come," he said simply, taking her by the shoulder and leading her away from the crowd.

He took her to his office and she was amused to find that it was cleaner than usual, with the papers put into stacks instead of being spread over desk and floor. As usual, he made tea for both of them before actually talking. She sipped at her mug to be polite; it was his usual blend of lemon with mint.

"I suppose you're disappointed about not being squad leader," Gareth said after a moment, setting his mug down on a small stack of papers that looked rather important, if the gold seal on their top right corners were any indication.

Mara nodded, the jealousy coming back in a wave. Nathanial wasn't a leader! He was only passable in swordwork, barely competent in basic fighting skills. His schoolwork was acceptable, only exceptional in his History and Etiquette classes. He irritated almost every person he met with his arrogance and flippant manners.

Gareth paused, picking out his words very carefully. "Your jealousy is… somewhat understandable but at the same time, is part of the reason why you weren't given the position."

When she opened her mouth to protest, he put up his hand to stop her. "Don't argue. I may have only known you for a few months, but that doesn't mean I haven't learned a couple things about you.

"You are arrogant, Frey. You are too used to being underestimated and using that as an advantage. While it is good to use such an advantage, you've used it as a crutch. You still need to control your temper and you need to control that damnable pride of yours." His eyes bore into hers, his mahogany eyes having no affection or humor in them any longer. Mara winced at the barrage, her normally thick skin of no avail here, especially when Gareth turned the very faults she had leveled at Nathanial's door at her.

"However your faults," he added, to soften the blow. "Politics had much to do with this. Even though you passed your midterms and thus passed your probation, the board of directors is not pleased with having you here. To have an Earth girl, of no rank, leading a squad of princes of the blood, is to be unspeakable insult. Saladin knew this, so did Codatorta."

Mara sagged bonelessly into her seat. "I know," she said quietly. "I understand."

Gareth reached over and put a hand on her shoulder, a comforting one this time. "Another fault of yours, you internalize everything," he chided gently. "You have friends here too. They want to help you."

Mara looked at him. "When will I be ready for that position?" she asked, carefully, ignoring that peculiar statement.

Gareth closed his eyes. "You'll know when you're ready. I promise you that. I can't say your arrogance is completely misplaced because I know that you're smart enough to know." He opened one bright brown eye and gazed at her with a wry but steady look. "That's why I'm training you, after all."

* * *

Even after Gareth's chat and tea, Mara was brimming with that black jealousy, choking every breath in her throat and making her head throb. It wouldn't relent, not with all the reasoning she presented it with, and she knew that jealousy never was rational. Her mouth was dry and her vision blurred. She knew that she looked like a fright, without looking in a mirror. Jealousy was only a becoming expression in theory and in fiction, like crying.

So she quietly packed up wooden practice weaponry and some equipment and headed out to one of the practice yards. Even freshmen were permitted into the multi-purpose yards, which were stocked with wood and straw targets and had none of the nasty "surprises" which trained upperclassmen. Mara closed the door, surveying the yard she had claimed. It was one of the middle-sized ones, about fifteen feet by twenty-five feet, with no roof and a hard dirt floor.

She dragged out several dummies from the crates at the sides of the yard, positioning them just so around the yard. Then she picked up her wooden sword and dagger. It was the same exercises that Instructor Hellin taught her and her classmates, choreographed moves for specific situations. However, she was adding a handicap.

Instructor Hellin hammered accuracy into their blows by having them use impossibly light wooden blades covered in paint and specially patterned canvas sheets draped over shaped dummies. Their blows left colored streaks on the dummies they used and if so much as one stroke had not connected in the right region, there was hell to pay. Mara was adding a twist to this.

She took a deep breath, stretching and warming up her muscles. Once she was limber and semi-relaxed, she launched into a fairly simple set of moves, all without touching the dummies, her wooden blades raking just over the specific targets. Once finished, she started a more difficult one, again not touching the dummies. Finally she reached one of the most difficult moves, practicing that over and over, taking care to not touch her targets. Sweat dripped down her brow, her muscles screamed.

But she forced her body to continue, until she was sure that she had every step, every stroke correct. That was when she started hitting the dummies.

These were specifically made creations, part magic, part clever mechanics. When struck in the correct areas with the correct amount of force, they crumpled to the ground. However, when a wrong stroke was administered, they swung around to give a stinging blow to the head or backside with the flats of their jointed arms. Mara went slowly, first, making sure to get the hits right, before speeding up, making the moves into an intricate, deadly dance.

She barely missed being hit after one or two mistakes, dodging out of pure instinct. But she would not be lucky as she botched the last step of the last dance. As the flailing arm came at her, she staggered to one knee, bringing up her knife and sword in a cross and catching the blow between the crossed blades. She shoved the wooden appendage back and made the killing blow, lopping off the dummy's head completely.

Mara knew that she was being watched by this time and she said, after catching her breath, "I locked the yard for a reason."

"And what are locks to Red Fountain students?" Bishop's quiet rumble echoed.

"That is a singularly- unscrupulous thing to do," Mara said, her formal voice with a tinge of iciness to it.

"I never said I was that type of person."

"Indeed. There are days I'm more frightened of you than anyone else." And she was telling the truth. For all that she was good friends with him now, there were times when he unsettled her, for she knew there was darkness behind his violet-gray eyes, something she could not yet identify but somehow recognized, in some primal part of her mind.

Bishop approached the fallen dummy's head, picking it up from the ground and studying it. Mara went over to her things to get her water bottle, drinking from it heavily.

"I heard that you didn't get squad leader," Bishop said, making sure that she had finished her water, lest she choke.

"Yeah." Mara was surprised to find that the jealousy did not come back with a vengeance. It had simmered down and became something petty, suddenly. She was able to brush it aside with much more ease this time around.

"It's not all that great, you know," he said to her. "Especially in your first year."

Mara blinked at him in surprise. Bishop frowned at her. "Well then, just when I thought that you were too good to be true," he mused.

Mara was startled into a laugh, a sound that also surprised Bishop. "I thought you were the epitome of cynics. No one's good enough for you."

The older student shrugged. "You are hardly a person of inferior quality."

Mara pushed back strands of straggling, sweaty black hair. "I thank you for that rare compliment. I should save it in a photo album."

Bishop came over to her, soon dropping the head he had been considering. He leaned in, using every inch of his considerable height. "You are a confusing female," he said, face an inch from hers.

"That's the nature of females," she said somewhat tartly. She rested one hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him away from her.

He didn't resist her; in fact, he almost seemed pleased. His hand reached out and ruffled her hair irreverently. "If I had a sister, I would be more than happy if she were like you."

Mara laughed carelessly. "Talk to my brothers. They'll give you a list of reasons why that's wishful thinking."

Bishop reached over… and flicked her between the eyes. Hard.

"Ow!" She recoiled, rubbing at the spot and seeing stars momentarily.

"While witty self-deprecation is enjoyable, deliberate undermining is irritating," he said loftily. "There are enough people in this school already trying to diminish you. You don't have to help them." Something like a smirk crossed his face. "Though I can get used to making sure these lessons stick."

Mara continued rubbing the spot, looking at Bishop balefully. "Thanks," she retorted somewhat lamely.

Bishop's wry chuckle echoed through the courtyard. Mara looked up at him. "So, there's nothing between us?" she blurted out without thinking.

"Only if you want there to be," Bishop said in a monotone. His expression had become unreadable again. The mask was instantly up in his dark eyes and she couldn't yet penetrate it. It was as though storm shutters had instantly latched.

"Well, I don't! I have more than enough on my plate without dealing with _you_." She took some delight in being able to needle him. Then a flash of inspiration struck her. "So- why don't we swear a blood oath?"

Bishop blinked at her. "Are you serious?"

Mara grinned at him crookedly. "You said you wanted a sister, didn't you? Are you afraid of a little blood?"

"Well, no, but-"

"But what?"

"But it seems a little drastic," he finished.

"What can I say? I'm dramatic."

"Now that's Valeron rubbing off on you," Bishop grumbled.

"Please. I choose not to be like him for a reason. So are we doing this or not?"

Bishop extended his hand. "If you provide the knife."

"I do."

"Now that frightens me."

Without further ado, the knife was procured and sleeves were rolled up neatly. Mara cut her palm first, making a small, curved slash along the top of her left palm, just under her fingers, before wiping the blade clean and offering it to Bishop. He made a similar cut easily along his own left hand, without a wince. They pressed their bleeding hands together, letting the blood from the respective wounds mingle between their palms.

"Blood sister and blood brother, not from mother but from blood," Mara said formally, piecing something together from her history and language classes. "So with this blood in my veins, will I be your sister blood but not flesh."

"Blood brother and blood sister, from blood but not mother," Bishop followed. "With your blood in mine, will I be your blooded brother."

They stood together for a moment longer, meeting each other's eyes intently. Bleeding hands still connected, they embraced closely but not romantically. For a minute, the storm shutters cracked open, just a little, and Mara thought she saw something that she couldn't decipher just yet.

* * *

"First assignments, already?" Mara blinked in surprise, completely caught off guard.

Thorne nodded, before flushing. "My mother has called me home and- I don't feel like having bodyguards coming to the school. Besides- I think we all need a break." His ears were bright pink.

Mara tilted her head at him. "Thorne, is there something else you should be telling me?" she asked gently. The two of them were still rather distant with each other, ever since Marcus had opened up to her. At times, Mara got rather irritated with him, to tell the truth. He was squeamish and too sensitive for his own good, while remaining distant from the hubbub of their crazy but close "family" at Red Fountain. Thorne shook his head rapidly as Mara toyed with the pile of ketchup on her plate.

"What he means to say is that he muscled his way into getting us all our first assignment despite our less than wonderful status as the squad with 'The Girl,'" Gregori interjected sardonically, sitting down next to Mara with his tray and almost splashing her with a dubious mixture of juices in his glass. It smelled like apples but looked like pond scum.

"It's not like that!" Thorne protested squeakily. Everyone at the table winced simultaneously at the rather high pitched squeak of the last syllable. As if his girlish frame weren't enough, Thorne was the last of them going through voice changes and if the "incidents" of late were indicative of anything, he wasn't going to have a voice very different from what he had at the moment.

"Get that- thing near me and I will kill you," Mara told Gregori before turning her attentions to Thorne. "Let me guess, your mother?"

Thorne was beet red at this point. "Well, yes. It turns out that- we were on the bottom for missions. My mother- won't have that."

"Neither would my father," Marcus put in, his own cheekbones a bit pink. "He had a few choice words for Codatorta."

Mara rolled her eyes. "While I don't like the method of obtaining this rather… doubtful blessing, I can't say that I hate the idea of getting a mission pretty soon." She got up and headed over to the conveyer belt for used trays and plates.

"Where are you going?" Gregori asked in confusion. "Our session with Instructor Hellin isn't for another hour."

"I need to get my hands on some extra bruise ointment," Mara replied sardonically over her shoulder. "Once Hellin finds out that I got a mission, he's going to knock me to the ground twice as hard, just to make sure it doesn't get to my head." Gregori cursed loudly, getting up and spilling his noxious concoction he called "juice" all over an upperclassman. Chaos erupted and Mara ducked as the wind from the boy's passing whipped past her as he ran for dear life out the door.

* * *

Gareth responded to this unusual turn of events with astonishing apathy, while Mara sipped at a very effective but rather bitter healing tea for the new collection of bruises that formed an interesting pattern across her backside.

"I'm not surprised," he said with a shrug, as he languidly stretched, extending his right leg above his head with nary a wince, easily balancing on his other leg. It was a dizzying display of flexibility, though Mara was unfazed by the sight of a man with his leg stretched so high his knee was pressed against his shoulder and his calf by his ear.

Mara looked over at him after a particularly nasty gulp of tea. "Oh? What I'm more surprised about is the fact that the parents of the members of my squad didn't first complain about the fact that their sons were with me."

"That's easy," Gareth said carelessly. He brought his leg back down, shaking it to work the kinks out. "Thorne's mother has been Regent for the last twenty years. Something as little as a female student in Red Fountain with her son is not going to bother her, considering she has other things to worry about. Marcus's father doesn't need the connections between kingdoms that squads bring. Whoever his son's with makes no difference, but the education of said son is, including his progress. Gregori is from a very small kingdom, in fact, it's more like a duchy. Whatever they say doesn't matter, not in the grand scheme of things. Nathanial's from Popularus. You fill in the blanks."

"It makes sense, except for Marcus's father. I mean-" Mara stopped her trail of spoken thought quickly. She had no business spouting Marcus's business everywhere.

Gareth looked at Mara. "Don't worry about it, Frey. Don't forget, people can surprise you. You can study their habits all their lives but then, they can turn around and catch you completely off guard." And Mara managed to dodge the leg hook he tossed at her, hurling her empty mug at his head in reflex, which he in turn dodged far too easily.

* * *

Mara supposed she should have been expecting one of the greatest sources of dread amongst Red Fountain students: a visit to Codatorta's office.

She stood, as was proper, not taking a seat even as it was cavalierly left for her. Codatorta stalked in after ten uncomfortable minutes. He took a seat heavily behind his very battered, messy desk. After a few more moments of his shuffling of several documents before shoving them irritably into a box, he looked up at her. "At ease," he barked and Mara visibly relaxed, but didn't take a seat.

"I trust ye unnerstan' that a mission is na jes' an assignment," he growled. "It is a _privilege_."

"Yes, sir."

"There will be _no_… funny business on this mission. I will hear of it and when I do…" He glowered at her, letting the unspoken threat hover.

"I understand, sir."

"Dismissed!"

Mara saluted him and got out of the office as quickly as possible, knowing that sweat had stuck her uniform to her back. Just because she looked collected in front of Codatorta didn't mean that he didn't affect her just as much as he affected any other Red Fountain student.

* * *

Chaucer, she had long discovered, was astonishingly lazy regarding his papers and Mara found herself grading the little paperwork that he assigned. She was torn between amusement and irritation but silently did the work; it wasn't going to kill her at any rate. While Mara was quietly finishing a pop quiz on poisonous mushrooms (Chaucer had been feeling particularly vindictive, especially concerning the uproar after the mid-year ball at Alfea), the instructor was leaning on the back two legs of his chair, eyeing her lazily like a cat sunning itself in a sunbeam and contemplating a mousehole.

She set down the last paper and her pen, looking at the instructor expectantly. The light was not flattering on him, especially in the brightness he filled his classroom with. It was the clinical light found in a surgery, illuminating but ultimately cold. Rather like Chaucer, Mara thought privately.

Certainly the light revealed the scars that marred the instructor's face, on the jaw and parts of his throat that his high-necked tunic failed to cover, as well as the drawn flesh of his profile, stretching like thin, ancient white leather against the framework of his skull. His bare hands were pale and worn, a latticework of scarring and damage all across their backs and in the webs between fingers. They were cleverly dexterous and astonishingly strong but Mara knew that he would feel the pain from the scars in coming years. She wondered, vaguely, what had happened to him. But it was none of her business and she let it be as she capped her red pen after grading the last quiz.

"Whither where has the horseman gone/When ash does spill on the field?/So be it, evil deeds are done/And a pale moon shall be their shield," Chaucer quoted.

"Lay of the Twilight, second movement," Mara replied after a moment of thought. It was their game these days, for despite her instructor's gruff, utterly masculine demeanor, he was well versed in poetry. He had long since realized her knack for languages and Mara knew that he took some amusement from quizzing her, though a smile rarely crossed his thin lips.

"Third," Chaucer corrected her and watched her brow furrow with a rather self-satisfied expression on his face.

"You cheated. You used Auteneal's translation, didn't you?" The "game" allowed for her to speak to him as an equal but only when they played it.

"My own," Chaucer informed her smugly. He looked over at the pile of papers on her desk. "Done?"

"Yes. What else, sir?"

He let his chair lean forward, the two front legs hitting the wooden floor. "I understand that you are headed out for a mission," he remarked casually, a tone that usually made all the boys look instinctively for an exit before answering _anything_ that would promptly follow.

"Yes, sir."

His eyes fixed on her intently as he spoke frankly, "I won't lie to you. It's a trumped up thing and you know it. It also may affect your teammates' pride."

"Yes, sir."

Chaucer remained silent for a moment. "I'm not the one to talk to you like this. I'll leave it to my idiot cousin to teach you." At Mara's vaguely startled look, he smiled, or rather, smirked. "Yes, I am related to Gareth. We share a common ancestor, on my father's side and his mother's side."

"Is everyone in this school related?" Mara muttered to herself.

"Yes," Chaucer said, his lips parting in a broad grin. "We all are. That's why the lot of us are insane. Inbreeding."

Mara snorted surreptitiously but when Chaucer laughed, she joined him with a chuckle, getting up to set the graded quizzes on his desk and wait for dismissal.

* * *

GAB (Gratuitous Author's Babble);

I'm so sorry everyone! School has been killer for me and Writer's Block has been levied on me. Blame my muse. Send him either catnip or kick to the butt if you're so inclined.

I do hope that I haven't filled this chapter with gratuitous information. While writing this, I felt the need to clear up the neat little "deus ex machina" as soon as possible, hence Gareth's rather detailed description regarding politics, which were completely off the top of my head. Also, I felt the need to bring Mara down to Earth because she was getting-how should I put this?-too large for herself. In the future chapters, in midst of aiding her friends confront their personal demons, she will have to confront her own flaws, not that she'll conveniently defeat all of them by the end of this story!

I'm sorry that I'm no longer addressing every single reviewer at this point (thanks to the restrictions on this site) but trust me when I say that every single one of your reviews is a joy to read and one of my greatest pleasures in being a writer.


	17. Chapter 16: Melding a Mismatched Mess

A/N: Yes, I did make a filler. I apologize. By the way, upon watching the third season, I find Baltor one of the better villains so far. He's classy and he actually has an intelligent plan. Darkar was interesting but Baltor probably wins in the intelligence and style department.

* * *

Chapter 16: Melding a Mismatched Mass

* * *

The five squad members stared at each other in the confines of the tiny Tactics chamber. They all knew each other to a certain extent; they were closer to some more than others but at the same time- they had been chosen for compatibility, even if they themselves did not know it was possible in this mixed bag of students. 

Nathanial Valeron of Popularus, squad leader. He was an attractive, exotic boy of middling height and lean figure. Though Red Fountain had more beautiful and certainly more masculine males, Nathanial had raw charisma that few could match even at his relatively young age. He had a glib tongue and a quick mind, with a natural knack for diplomacy that reflected well on his home planet and lineage. A good student, he excelled in humanities, in History, Languages, and Cultures, his weaknesses being Battle Strategy and Magical Beasts (he had gained a certain notoriety with never, ever getting along with _any_ animal in the class), not to mention getting notoriously poor marks in Survival (Instructor Chaucer would not be writing glowing remarks about him). In terms of personal character, he was too quick-witted for his own good, not only realizing the consequences of his actions but making the wrong choices anyways. He was also easily distracted and disorganized.

Marcus of Lyndoria, official pilot. Diminutive in stature, nevertheless he was the eldest of the squad. He was known for careful thought and general reservation, despite his shy, almost child-like countenance. His specialty was in mechanical systems and practical calculations, making him a fine pilot and a possible future candidate for the elite pilot squad of Red Fountain, the Harriers. On the other hand, he struggled with low physical stamina, leading to difficulties in general training; he was being considered instead for marksman training (at recommendation of Instructor Gareth). His general grasp of languages was poor but adequate for the time being. His personal history and circumstances were duly noted in his files and he was continuously though surreptitiously monitored, lest he be a liability with his somewhat compromised emotional and mental state.

Thorne of Endor's Sixth Moon, medic. Tall and fragile, he was soft-spoken and withdrawn, even more than Marcus. He excelled in plant knowledge and by default, identification of poisons and other substances, as well as having a knack with Magical Creatures, already having been passed to sophomore level dragon taming. Otherwise, he was an average student, neither exceptional nor abysmal at other subjects. In personality, he was the most passive and most reserved of the squad, which had not led to glowing remarks in most of his classes, especially in Tactics. The Etiquette instructor had also been disapproving of his inability to converse wittily in a courtly setting. He was also noted for his particular "gift" as a Sensitive, which was considered a liability in the field in its current unstable state. Why he was placed with Marcus was not disclosed, even to most professors.

Gregori of Lucern, scout. Close in physical appearance to Marcus, he was the complete opposite in personality. He was known for mischief and sly insubordination, even more so than Nathanial. He was a promising reconnaissance agent, with more than one instructor recommending his elevation to upper level Subterfuge classes. Currently, he held the class record for running speed, in both controlled sprints and rough terrain. He also had the approval of his weapons instructor, Instructor Hellin. However, he was a poor student and struggled with his academics, having the lowest grades of the entire squad. His mischievous temperament made him difficult in a team setting as well, his quick use of insults easily alienating other classmates.

Lastly, Mara Frey of Earth, archivist and irregular. She was tall for a female and easily passed for male with minimum effort, to both the chagrin and grudging approval of various teachers. Though she was not the top student in her most of her classes, she was always in the top ten of each class, noted for her steady, consistent work. Her physical instructors found no significant flaws with her and she excelled overall, compared to the other members of her squad. She was far too harsh and forbidding in demeanor, however, and lacked the palpable charisma of Nathanial to hold a team together, even if her appointment as squad leader would not have caused a complete uproar amongst noble families. Another noted weakness was her lack of specialization in a field, which was worrisome, even in a novice specialist.

The squad eyed one another somewhat warily at this point, before as one, turning to their squad leader, who was leaning back in his chair, the tips of his fingers pressed against each other, creating a steeple. In midst of the uneasy silence, Mara made a pointed cough and the young man quickly sat up straight as if intending to do so all along. He pulled out a thin file from beside his chair and opened it on the table.

"This, gentlemen, and lady," he added, giving Mara an impish expression. The sole female gave him a look that promised that he would find something from the lake in his bed that night if he kept on going on that vein. "Is our first mission."

"Startin' witho' me, Valeron?" growled a dark, raspy voice from the shadows. All five students scrambled out of their rickety seats, saluting as one.

"Sir!" Their voices echoed in the tiny chamber, their backs ramrod straight.

Nathanial recovered admirably. "No, sir. Your timing is excellent as usual. Sir." He saluted Codatorta crisply but there was a definite glitter of humor in his gray-orange eyes.

The enormous armsmaster gave the irrepressible boy a gimlet glare that easily wiped away Mara's. "At ease." Once everyone had taken a seat, he sat at the head of the table, at the larger, more imposing chair that Nathanial had nonchalantly been curled up in.

"You believe you are lucky for havin' the first mission, no?" he barked.

"No sir," came a general response.

"Ye should count yerself lucky." The man glared particularly at the top of Thorne's head for a single moment, making the slighter male turn rather pale before flushing brilliant scarlet. "It's na a pleasure 'oliday. Ye will be representatives of Red Fountain and ye would be wise to uphold this school's reputation. Am. I. Clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" came the patented response.

The muscular man's eyes raked over each squad member, darkening as he passed each one. When he stopped at Mara, he looked positively murderous. Mara's toes curled in her boots, her fingers clenching at the seat of her chair, as she tried to look levelly back at him.

"Now," Codatorta said, snatching the file from Nathanial's spot at the table. "Ye are to escort Prince Thorne of the Sixth Moon of Endor to his planet for his leave. It includes escortin' him to state functions and ensurin' his safety. By any means necessary." The look on Codatorta's face indicated that nothing of the sort would happen.

"Yer squad leader will fill ye on details." Codatorta heavily got up from his seat. The five followed suit hastily, saluting as the formidable armsmaster left the room.

"What are we going to do at your home planet anyways, Thorne?" Gregori asked once Codatorta was gone.

The boy had not recovered from the mortifying experience and with a flushed face and the most pitiful look of humiliation still in his eyes, answered, "As Crown Prince, my coming of age is coming. Part of it includes receiving fealty from the clans in my planet. One of the claims… I have to go to the forest to the clan itself. It's a rite of passage for every Crown Prince."

"So there's a party?" Gregori asked slyly. His eyes were glinting with something unholy and he traded looks with Nathanial who was also grinning.

Mara rolled her eyes. "Let's just pretend that we're actually on a mission," she said, speaking for the first time since the five had congregated.

"Not- quite a party," Thorne squeaked. "Maybe- just- a- banquet and a- ball-"

"Which we're supposed to be, to protect you," Nathanial said promptly, grinning.

Marcus looked contemplative, before nibbling at the side of his thumb. He had a tendency to do that when nervous and sometimes go too far; he had a faint scar in the shape of curved teeth marks near the cuticle of his right thumb. Mara didn't know what was written in Marcus's file, but whoever thought he was child-like was completely wrong. Upon closer examination, he was a grave personality, a match for Mara's own seriousness.

"Don't look so serious for Dragon's sake, Marcus!" Nathanial said, playfully shoving at the smaller boy's shoulder. "It's not like we're being sent to the Underrealm!"

"Leave him alone," Mara snapped, disgusted with the other's flippancy. "Are we done yet, _leader_? Because we all have a paper due tomorrow morning."

"Lighten up, Frey," Gregori said, taken aback, defending Nathanial for once. "You know as well as we do that this is easy work. Thorne's mother did it for him and by default, us. Codatorta isn't fooled." At further mention of his mother's "meddling," Thorne sunk into his chair, looking like he wanted to the earth to come up and swallow him.

"But he's letting us go," Marcus said suddenly. "It's a little strange." The smallest of the group got up from his seat, brushing invisible lint from his clothing. "We're the most mismatched squad," he said quietly. "And yet we get a mission. Something's going on here."

"Politics," Nathanial offered idly.

Marcus paced a little. "I know, I know. But something doesn't seem right here…"

"Don't think about it too much, Marcus," Mara said, making nearly all of them jump (namely Nathanial, Thorne, and Gregori). "Remember, when stepping into an unknown situation-"

"-Walk straight forward, with your shield arm up," finished Marcus. However, he still looked vaguely worried as they left the room.

* * *

Miss Ruri presented Mara with something unexpected the next night after practice. At the time the dignified instructor hardly looked ruffled despite the intense training session she had just undergone. Both females were dressed in little more than a single satin robe, tied tightly at the waist and ending somewhere near the knees. Mara had been somewhat self-conscious at wearing such a brief costume but had had no chance to protest before having to defend herself from Miss Ruri's vicious sword swipes. 

The narrow skirt and the voluminous sleeves had made it difficult at first but Mara had adapted as well as she could. The older woman had meant business and easily clipped off bits of her student's dark blue satin sleeves, even getting a bit of Mara's hair. But Mara held her own and at the very least got the fight to a draw.

Sweating and sticky, Mara contemplated the present in the older woman's hands, before taking it with both of hers. The present was in a beautifully wrapped rose-pink box tied with an impossibly intricate matching ribbon-bow, something that Mara thought only was possible in movies or cartoons. Thanking her instructor (in time), she warily opened it. Inside of the box was a neatly folded silvery gray silk scarf. As Mara lifted it from the depths of the box, it rippled, looking eerily like mist and foggy water.

"It is an ancient thing," Miss Ruri said after a moment as Mara marveled over the scarf. The silk was very soft and had a curious slickness that made it slip over her rough fingers without a single snag. She had to catch it before it all but slid off her fingers and floated to the floor. Even then, as she gripped it with sweaty fingers and palms, she swore that she felt the threads shifting, every so slightly, against her skin.

"I trust it will help you," the older woman offered as a form of explanation, before slipping from the room without another word. Mara was left gaping, before turning around to get her clothing on before Gareth came to pick her up.

* * *

"This is quite interesting," Gareth said, examining the scarf but not touching it. Mara sat on her bed, drying her hair with a towel. 

"She took quite a bit of enjoyment in being cryptic," Mara said cynically.

"That is the way of women." Gareth ducked the pillow Mara aimed at his head. "If I am not mistaken, though, it may be a Charm Cloth."

"What's that?" Mara reached for a comb, detangling her still damp hair with quick strokes.

"A Charm Cloth is fabric made of pure magic. They're quite popular as accessories, of course, depending on what spell the cloth is woven from. Luck and beauty spells are pretty common, especially with fairies. However, Charm Cloths are quite useful as armor and that's their primary value." Gareth threw the pillow back at her; Mara dropped her comb, knocked back by the force of the projectile.

"So what is this for?" Once she got back up, Mara went over to the desk and picked up the scarf carefully.

Gareth shrugged. "You'll have to find out for yourself eventually. If the giver doesn't tell you… usually there's a reason for that lack of knowledge."

At those words, a shudder ran down Mara's spine as she continued to clutch at the scarf. The slippery material almost writhed against her fingers, trying to slip away from her calloused, sticky hands. Under the sterile light of her room, the gray cloth was flat and dull.

"I trust that it's not anything- bad," she said aloud, meeting Gareth's eyes.

Something hardened in her instructor's gaze. "If Miss Ruri gave you something, she gave it to you for a reason," he replied and his tone made Mara wince. Ouch, definitely stepped across one of the invisible boundaries that were never to be crossed.

That night, Mara tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep properly as the silken, oily feel of Miss Ruri's present continued to prickle her skin. Feverishly, she got out of bed at midnight, tossing the scarf into her largest desk drawer and locking it securely. Even then, she had disquieting dreams of silken threads and scarves binding her limbs and slowly suffocating her in a cocoon.

* * *

Mara faced the elaborate mirror as she wrapped bandages about her chest. Most people thought that binding breasts were as easy as tightly tying them down with bandages but the process was more difficult than it seemed. If the cloth was tied too tightly, it could cause nerve damage and bruising. If the cloth was tied too loosely, well, it was obvious that binding would be moot. 

Perhaps this elaborate set up was not necessary but Mara wasn't too interested in advertising her gender any more than she had to. Gregori had intercepted a package for her, which had contained a pale pink confection of a dress that had sent the spy-in-training to the floor in hysterical laughter. With every bit of polite dignity she could manage, she had put that dress away and vowed to stay as far away from Thorne's formidable mother as possible.

Said mother, Queen Lyria, was a sweet-faced woman with deep and soulful green eyes and a spirit like iron. She was the sort of woman that gave young men nightmares. It wasn't as though she yelled or screamed or verbally shredded any resistance. No, she just had a way with her dulcet, level voice, of making her unfortunate victim feel like the lowest creature in existence. She had greeted them cordially, embracing her son first once they had landed safely in the cleared area for ships. Then she had surprised all the others by embracing them in turn, to the mortification of most involved except for Nathanial, who had smoothly accepted the embrace and bowed over her hand.

"So you are Mara Frey," the queen had said in her sweet yet deep voice, meeting Mara's eyes. She had smiled and it was a smile that vaguely unsettled Mara but she had had no chance to contemplate that before being escorted to a luxurious room in the organic, intricate palace that seemed have been hung in the trees by silver spider thread, even as white three roots grew upwards to support it.

Mara's room was in a restful dark green with pale cream furniture, a room that suited male and female tastes. A few concessions to ornaments included a marble counter with a wash basin and a large mirror framed with pale gold roses (in front of which she was currently standing). Also present was a large bouquet of white and pink lilies placed in a silvery-white urn, the perfume permeating the air in a nearly visible cloud.

With long practice, Mara eased herself into her uniform, smoothing out every pucker and wrinkle. Despite her somewhat flatter chest, the cloth did not retain the slight indentations her breasts would have left, instead stretching smoothly over the planes of her body. She contemplated her reflection, before mutely going to her things and pulling out a multi-purpose tool.

It was a gift from Gareth, roughly shoved into her hands before she left. "Just in case," he had said brusquely. He wasn't sentimental about these things, she knew by this time. If he had been, she would have been surprised and embarrassed.

She weighed the tool in her hand, feeling the cool gray metal against her fingertips. With a couple of twists, she unfolded a pair of scissors. Stepping up to the mirror, she combed her bangs forward before starting to snip. Bits of black hair fell onto the table below the mirror; she would have to burn them later to prevent them from being used against her by an unscrupulous magic user. W had been adamant about that particular rule (she had made a sly retort out his particular decision regarding facial hair; he had thrown a textbook at her).

"Oi, Frey, you done?" came a muffled yell, accompanied by the dull thuds of a fist on her door.

"Wait a minute!" she called back, putting down the scissors and sweeping up the fallen hair. She dropped them into a small brass dish, unfolding the scissors to form a flint-striker. A few sparks and the acrid scent of burned hair filled the room and the hairs were frizzled remnants that fell apart at first contact.

Mara got to her boots, newly polished and finished for formal affairs (courtesy of the Quartermaster), slipping her feet into them, gritting her teeth as she realized that her feet had grown, _again_. The Quartermaster would not be pleased with her by the end of this year. Her cloak, pressed and clean, was dangling from her wardrobe and she pulled it on with an air of long practice, putting her Red Fountain brooch on her left shoulder.

Nathanial was waiting for her. When she opened the door for him, he arched an eyebrow. "And I thought you were primping," he said slyly.

"Says the boy who spends two hours braiding and treating his hair every other day," Mara retorted. She smoothed back her hair, making sure the gel she used set properly.

"You might end up insulting Thorne's mother," Nathanial pointed out as they walked together along the hallway.

"What do you mean?"

"There's no use in hiding yourself, Frey," he said officiously.

It was good advice, Mara had to admit, but Nathanial's arrogance made her want nothing more than to punch him.

"I may as well be discreet," she said tartly, throttling the sudden, violent impulse. "I know perfectly well how to be."

"Discreet, yes," Nathanial said lightly. "But can you really disappear?" His odd colored eyes, smoky quartz touched with the orange of flames, met hers in the semi-darkness of the hallway.

Mara managed a lopsided smile. "Trust me, I can. I may not have Gregori's knack for spying but I know how to vanish."

"That doesn't comfort me in the least."

"Make up your damn mind then," Mara snapped at him, her normally generous patience running thin. "Just because you're squad leader doesn't mean you can be as obtuse as our professors, Your Highness." She drew out the last title scathingly. The jealousy was back in full, raging, unreasonable force.

Nathanial didn't recoil but he definitely had been struck. When he spoke, his voice was different, lower and with much more gravity. "I make decisions that I believe are correct according to the situation. Situations are not just black and white but multi-dimensional and if I seem obtuse, so be it. When I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed within reason."

Mara's lips tightened and she counted from ten. She replied, tersely, "I understand- sir."

* * *

"What did you do to Nathanial?" Gregori whispered to Mara, on the pretense of stealing a berry tart from her. It wasn't necessarily polite manners to be clustered together like this in a banquet-ball, but Gregori in particular was particularly good at twisting societal restrictions to suit himself. 

"What do you mean?" Mara replied, barely moving her lips, just as Gregori was. She wasn't quite good as good at it as her classmate but she wasn't abysmal either.

"He's definitely not in a good mood."

Mara eyed Nathanial, who was flirting quite shamelessly with a young lady dressed in rose pink with matching flowers in her long brown hair. "Not in a good mood? I hate to see him when he's angry."

"He's upset," the spy-in-training replied. "And he hasn't looked at you once."

"He hasn't looked at you much either."

"That's past the point. What did you say to our fearless leader?"

Mara gave Gregori a warning look. "It's none of your business."

"Which makes it my business, mate." Gregori stole a bunch of grapes from beneath Mara's nose, or at least, tried to. Mara slapped his wrist smartly with her fingers, catching the fruit he dropped in her free hand.

"Shut up."

The two drew apart before more blows were exchanged as Marcus joined them. The newcomer was precariously balancing three cups of chilled tea, sweetened with cream and spices. Mara relieved him of his burden, contemplating the delicate ceramic cup. She had to marvel at the craftsmanship, the tea seeming to be nestled in the center of a lotus flower with creamy white petals tinged with pink. Her fingers held it delicately, once she confirmed that the ceramic was paper thin.

"Nat's upset," Marcus murmured. "He's not being himself."

"You too, Marcus?" Mara eyed the short boy.

Marcus met Mara's eyes. "Nat is my third cousin, twice removed," he said with a shrug. "Not to mention that my aunt is his cousin. I used to spend time on Popularus when we were both kids. We know each other well enough."

Mara continued to study Nathanial for a long moment before realizing that her two companions were right. There was a stiffness to Nathanial's limbs that normally wasn't present on the affable boy, who had the unconscious languor and liquidity of a pampered cat (though it didn't always translate to his swordwork). His voice was pitched a bit higher than usual. All of these little indications were difficult to realize but put together, they made a clear picture.

"I- said something less than flattering about his leadership skills," Mara gritted out, grudgingly.

The two boys leveled identical reproachful looks at her, their resemblance startling at this point, though Marcus was sandy-haired and Gregori was pure blonde.

Mara shifted under their gaze. "I didn't mean to hurt him," she said and a flush of shame instantly crossed her face.

"You should apologize," Marcus said after a moment. "It takes a lot to hurt him, you know."

Gregori agreed. "Don't be such a hardass."

Mara kicked him lightly. "Don't get ahead of yourself." She stalked off to keep an eye on Thorne and "mingle" on the pretense of getting away from their unsettling words.

* * *

After the banquet, Mara paused, waiting at Nathanial's door. Her hand moved, without thinking, and she rapped her knuckles against the carved dark wood. 

It took some time for Nathanial to answer and when he did, he did so in magnificent disarray. His very short white hair was damp and faintly curled against his head, the red-orange feathers looking somewhat disheveled. He was dressed in a hastily tied white robe over long pants made of something white and silky. Any girl would have started swooning; Mara stoically ignored that fact.

"Yes?" he asked politely and somewhat stiffly.

"I'm sorry," she said, finally. The words were difficult to summon but once released, they spilled easily.

He studied her intently and Mara knew that he was made to lead, in his own way. Though he didn't seem like it, he had the tools and traits of a leader, a ruler. And it chastened her a little.

"Why don't you come in?" he said, softly.

Mara hesitated. "I'm not sure about protocol," she said, a little stiffly.

The first real smile that Mara had seen all evening appeared slowly on Nathanial's lips and she read a flicker of good humor back in his curious eyes. "I won't report you and I don't think anyone else will, as long as you dawdle in his hallway," he drawled quietly.

Mara let out a long sigh. "All right then." She stepped into the room and Nathanial closed the door behind her, leaving it just barely open with an impish smile. The gesture failed to get any reaction from Mara.

Nathanial's room was almost an identical copy of her own, except the greens in his room were touched with blue and his mirror was silver-framed and less ornate. And _he_ didn't have any lilies. He gestured for her to sit on a chair while he sat on his bed, picking up a towel to rub his hair dry.

They sat in silence for what seemed like half an eternity. Nathanial spoke first and his tone was steady and neutral.

"I didn't mean to take this position from you," he said at last. "It wasn't my decision."

"I know it wasn't," Mara answered. "You don't need to say that to me."

"But maybe I do." He met her eyes with his, the towel still draped over his head like a veil. For a moment, he seemed to be searching for the right words, which was unusual for Nathanial, who had a quick comeback to almost any statement.

"I'm not fully confident in myself," he admitted finally. "As a leader, anyways."

Mara blinked in surprise. "That is a very dangerous thing to say," she answered after a moment's thought.

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. I don't see anything to gain by lying."

Mara snorted in contempt. "Sometimes we have everything to lose by _not_ lying," she returned.

It was Nathanial's turn to blink. "You have very firm views on leading."

Mara shrugged. She leaned forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees. "It's experience. I'm used to watching people. The truth- is a very dangerous thing."

"Like your identity as a female here?" the squad leader guessed shrewdly.

"That's different," came the retort. "Those who are unobservant enough to realize that there are supposed to be four boys and _one_ girl instead of five _boys_ don't need to know."

"Your reasoning confounds me."

"You know people better than I do," Mara snapped, but it lacked true heat. "You think about it for a minute."

"You contradicted yourself."

"I never said I observed people enough to know them better than you." She met his eyes. "Your planet is known for hospitality. But conversely, your planet is known for manipulating emotions."

Nathanial shrugged expansively. The towel dropped from his head, crumpling on the sleek expanse of the still neatly made bed. "That's life. Manipulate or be manipulated. Choose not to manipulate and that is manipulation itself."

They met each other's gazes from what seemed like an endless plain and after a single heartbeat was shared between them, that plain disappeared and they merely stood before one another as one would stand before a mirror and contemplate a reflection.

They were both standing in the room across from each other. Their hands reached for each other and slowly but firmly, fingers and palms clasped. For once, Nathanial had no quips or words. The silence spoke enough for both of them.

* * *

It was ironic that the next morning, Nathanial and Mara grappled in a furious vocal battle. 

"I am _not_ wearing that thing," Mara said in tones of pure ice.

"You will, under _my_ order and the order of the Queen," Nathanial answered in a low, level voice.

"For what reason? You know quite well I am able to disguise myself as male with minimal effort!"

"Think politics, Mara." Nathanial's tones became wheedling. "You can't offend the Queen."

"I can thank her for the gown and put it away," Mara said mulishly. "Now, why else do you want me in that hideous thing?"

"I'm reinforcing royal-"

"Dragon manure."

Nathanial actually winced. "Ah…"

"I'm waiting."

"Look, I had a premonition," he said, haltingly.

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow at him.

Nathanial actually looked rather uneasy. "I have foresight," he answered. "Don't tell anyone!"

"Why?"

By this time, he had an eerie resemblance to a very flustered Thorne. "I- I- It's just a long story and I promise I'll tell you later, but please, just wear the dress!"

"You're going to order me to wear it anyways, aren't you?" Mara asked after a moment's contemplation.

Nathanial gave her a long look. "I already did."

"No, I mean, _really_ order me, as in, you'll report me to Codatorta for insubordination once we get back to school, right?" She gave him a mongoose glare.

"…if I have to, yes." However, he didn't looked pleased at the thought of doing such a thing.

Mara heaved a long sight. "Fine. I'll do it. But I'm carrying my weapons."

"I wouldn't expect anything else from you."

"And-" She cast a long, uncomplimentary look at "the dress." "I want a different color."

* * *

Concealing weaponry in dresses was both a chore and an adventure, Mara discovered. It was a very uncomfortable specialist who stood in swathes of dark rose fabric with the others in their uniforms. 

"The dress" was still infuriatingly pink but had been changed from its nauseatingly sweet pale pink to a darker shade. Nevertheless, it wasn't a completely flattering color for Mara's dusky-gold skin and her black eyes and hair; at least in her opinion. The dress was in a Grecian style, a column dress tied about her waist and chest with a long cream colored cord. The hems were edged with a delicate froth of pale pink lace. Her feet were in delicate matching slippers that had to be cobbled very quickly together, considering she had feet bigger than most women's on the entire planet.

Mara had to request a hairpiece, to Nathanial's great amusement. After all it was on _his_ "recommendation" once he had cheerfully informed her that her short hair wasn't necessarily becoming. The minute she assented to his plea, he had regained all good humor and now offered "suggestions" with unholy glee. So she grudgingly put on said hairpiece, a long cascade of ringlets that matched her hair color exactly (an extremely small consolation, especially in the face of Nathanial's unholy glee). A ribbon that matched the dress was wrapped about the tail's base, though it attached seamlessly to her hair. For jewelry, she kept the amulet that Gareth had given her the month before, the red stone settled against the hollow of her throat.

Under the dress, within easy access of a few clever but possibly awkward twists of her hands, were the hilts to her blades. Binding them to her waist was the Spell Cloth. For once, it was behaving, the silk tight against the skin of her abdomen, though she had to secure the knot with a pin that she found in a small box on her dresser. She ignored the faint sense that it was probably meant for decoration on the _dress_. However, the now familiar feeling of the metal hilts against her skin was comforting, even if she had to tug a little to hide any suspicious bulges.

The other boys' eyes widened impressively once they saw her enter the breakfast nook the morning of their departure.

"Take a good look, because it'll be the last time you see me in this," Mara grumbled as she took a precarious seat and stole a muffin from Gregori's plate.

Thorne was having difficulty swallowing his juice. "Wow," he managed to squeak.

Mara ignored him, ripping apart the muffin and buttering it. Marcus was blushing and Gregori was looking speculative.

"If you say anything, Gregori, so help you," Mara said without looking up from her tea. The boy closed his mouth with an audible sound. Fortunately, the rest of them took the hint and didn't comment as they finished up their breakfasts quickly.

Mara was rather glad that she had trained them all so well.

* * *

Marcus had a difficult time landing in the midst of the thick forest but managed admirably. Mara clapped him on the shoulder gently. "Well done," she murmured. "We'll put it on the report." She shot Nathanial a long look and the squad leader nodded in acquiescence. 

Marcus wiped sweat from his brow and managed a weak smile. "So my training simulation scores aren't for nothing, are they?" he asked aloud. He then leveled a look at Gregori.

The cherubic boy scowled and took his wallet from his belt pouch, stuffing a card into Marcus's hand. "I'm never taking a bet with you again," he muttered while the victor looked almost smug.

Mara looked at the two with mild amusement and even Thorne had a smile. Nathanial was looking at Mara, however. "No words of rebuke?" he asked, almost mockingly. "You're not going to scold them for me, vice-captain?"

Everyone froze. Nathanial had gone too far.

"Of course not," Mara said crisply. "You, on the other hand…" She let a heavy pause descend. "You shouldn't use titles where they don't belong." With that she got up from her seat and headed to the descending ramp. She knew that her back was ramrod straight, however.

The minute that Mara's foot descended on the soft moss, every single fiber of her body stood on end for a single horrible moment. Thorne walked with her and he froze too. Marcus in turn looked uneasy.

"There is- something wrong here," Thorne whispered, his skin ashen.

"Everyone, be on your guard," Mara ordered without permission. She unconsciously reached into her gown to pluck out her hilts. However, Nathanial came behind her and put a firm hand on her wrists.

"Enough," he hissed. "Don't be trigger happy."

Mara scowled at him. "Fine then," she gritted out, sliding her hand from the folds of her dress. "But if you don't believe me, look at Thorne."

Nathanial glanced over a moment too late. Thorne had gathered his composure and Marcus looked only vaguely confused.

"What are you talking about, Frey?" Nathanial asked slowly. His expression was one of skepticism.

Mara stared at both Thorne and Marcus, who looked perfectly at ease by this point. "A moment ago-" she said, faltering a little.

Thorne shrugged. "It was nothing," he said, calm as you please. He looked at her in question now.

Marcus's confusion was dissipating fairly quickly. "I just had a thought, but I forgot it," he said and then shrugged carelessly.

Mara's brow furrowed. Something was not right here- But she had no chance to say anything. Fortunately, the interruption halted any attempt of Nathanial's to further rebuke her. A small contingent of people approached.

They shared a commonality of features, including aquiline noses and skin that was tinged gold with undertones of green. Their clothing was simple but well tailored, tunics made of coarsely woven green linen trimmed with what looked like multi-colored vines, evidently meaning status. The tallest member of the party, a man who towered even over the gangly Thorne, stepped forward to greet them, his tunic adorned with pale green leaves and lavender blossoms. By that movement and the way the others seemed to defer to him identified as the leader.

Nathanial respectfully stepped partially behind Thorne, who received the man's bow graciously, though Mara could see that the tips of his ears were faintly pink. She shook her head inwardly. The boy was going to have to learn how to accept that some time soon…

"Greetings, Prince," the man said formally, his voice with a curious lilting accent. "We have been long awaiting your presence here."

Thorne nodded politely. "Her Royal Majesty also sends her greetings," he replied.

Curious eyes flickered over to Mara at this point. Nathanial then sent a slight shove in her direction and she tripped a little, forced closer to Thorne.

"My- betrothed," Thorne managed to choke out, his cheeks flushing. "M- Princess Maran." Thorne never was a good liar.

The small group bowed to her and she managed to give them a brief courtesy in return. She felt their eyes rake over her, testing the lie for what it was worth, and she managed to project as much demure innocence as possible.

The leader beckoned with a hand. "Our chief awaits, Prince."

As they trudged through a forest, dodging roots and slipping on moss, Mara promised to kill both Nathanial and Thorne, the former out of revenge and the latter out of mercy.

* * *

The village was far from idyllic or fantastical. But upon arrival, it wasn't like anything on Earth. The houses were not in the trees but in thatched huts on the ground, hugging tree trunks. 

In what passed for a village square, tables were set up, spread with blindingly white cloths and decorated with urns of flowers and baskets of fruit. Women and children were bustling back and forth, bearing more baskets of fruit and greens, pitchers and stone jars, the occasional bronze cauldron with tendrils of pungent spicy steam. Occasionally leaf-green eyes glanced aside in curiosity before quickly looking away, but not out of shyness. It read a little too much of… fear. Mara's unease grew.

The shaman who approached was a lean man who was deceptively elderly. He looked fit to be on a movie set, with green silk robes and an intricately painted and embroidered leather vest that reached his knees, complete with a brilliant scarlet sash around his waist. Of course, he all but dripped and jingled with jewelry; wooden medallions painted in garish colors, stone and nut beads that rattled against one another, even a number of tarnishing copper and dull silver chains hung with cracked gemstones. His hair was dark gray and hinted at being once a dull gold-red, a genetic anomaly in the village filled with green-eyed, dark-haired people. Mara instantly disliked him; maybe it was that sly look in his pale green-yellow eyes, hardly rheumy with age. They were too keen, too shrewd, and the intent in them hardly seemed benevolent.

"Prince! I must welcome you to our clan." The man bowed deeply and theatrically.

"It is always a pleasure to come here, Shaman…?" Thorne looked vaguely confused.

"Yewe," the man answered promptly. "I am afraid Wisewoman Jeila went on to the other side and was embraced by the earth. She did not want her passing to cause much pain so she asked to make it as discreet as possible."

Thorne nodded slowly. "I see… that is such a loss," he murmured. "She was a good woman."

"Ahh, but all good things go back to the earth, no?" the man said. He looked directly at Mara. "And who would this lady be?"

"My betrothed," Thorne said quickly. "Princess Maran." He was able to lie a bit more glibly at this point.

The shaman shamelessly gave Mara a long, raking glance from head to toe. Mara instantly wanted to take a bath after that look. "She has good hips," the man observed and it took Thorne's shaking arm and hand around her waist and Nathanial stepping on the hem of her dress from leaping at the man

"Well, enough of chatter! Food is most important in this life." The shaman gestured expansively at the tables behind him. "We have been awaiting you to grace our tables for a long time, Crown Prince."

* * *

Despite the fact that Mara's unease had not ceased, she grudgingly enjoyed her meal. Most of it was vegetarian, but done in the most creative ways, including imitations of meat that she swore as nearly as good as the real thing. The others were enjoying themselves too. 

Nathanial and Gregori were shamelessly flirting with the serving girls, not helped by the copious amounts of berry wine poured into their glasses. Marcus was drawing his own attention by his shy blushes and the girls filled his plate ceaselessly.

Mara nibbled on a dish that she swore was sliced beef in a spicy, thick brown sauce (but was told it was a treated root) before feeling sick. She also refrained from doing more than sipping at the wine. The drinks were good, true, sweet and light and lightly bubbling, but she had a bad feeling about imbibing alcohol. Thorne was in a daze, seated in the seat of honor. Girls had brought him bouquets and garlands of flowers and he was currently wearing a crooked circlet of ivy decorated with bunches of tiny white flowers shaped like stars. Color was very high in his cheeks and he had been drinking quite a bit.

Throughout the air was a curious perfume, saturating everything with a thick flowery scent with just a hint of acrid bitterness, like smoke. Mara detested it; it was making her a bit dizzy and her head pounded. Even the promise of sweets did not assuage her mood, even though the diners supped on tarts filled with jams and jellies that were beyond delectable, trifles with luscious fruits and berries, and honey cakes that were so rich they had more than hints of the flowers they had been made from.

Dancers and musicians entertained them, pounding on enormous wood and leather drums that made primal rhythms that made the heart race. The dancers were all lithe young men or women who twisted and contorted their bodies in the most unimaginable ways possible. Their bodies had been painted with wild patterns in green and red and white, their faces streaked with black. The whirling spectacle made the headache pounding Mara's skull even worse.

She tried to endure it, however, and applied herself to food, though it seemed to make her feel even worse. She had to desist after a while, only politely nibbling for the sake of appearances.

The party continued long into the night. Time seemed to go faster and slower at the same time. The only thing consistent seemed to be the shaman's brilliant yellow-green eyes, which seemed to bore into Mara's soul whenever he looked at her. When there started to be a lull in festivities, Mara regained enough sense to look around her. Marcus was asleep, cheek against the table. Nathanial had paint along his lips and was drowsing in his seat, a ridiculous smile on his face. Gregori was snoring, curled up in his chair.

Even Thorne seemed to be sleeping, as he would blink and shake himself awake but then start to nod and eventually slump. Mara was weary, a bit dizzy, and slightly irritated, but she wasn't sleepy. There was an odd fuzziness to her mind and she shook it off, like cobwebs. But if she wasn't wary, the cobwebs came back and she used the prongs of her fork against her fingertips to keep herself awake. Upon reflection, she found herself slipping her eating knife off the table, securing it in the many folds of her dress.

Discreetly, she checked the time on her communicator, which she had kept in her dress pocket. It was near dawn. How had time passed by so fast?

Then she nearly jumped as a man was right behind her, about to reach for her. It was the man who had lead the party to get them. He bowed and said, in a low, respectful voice, "If you would accompany me?"

She turned her head, looking at her sleeping comrades and Thorne. Thorne was also being gently shaken awake. Mara waved off the soldier's hand and got to her feet herself, gratified to note that she didn't trip on her own hem.

Thorne looked at her vacantly. "Where are we going?" he asked in a low, sleepy drawl.

"I don't know." She, upon impulse, grabbed his elbow.

The whole village seemed to be uprooting. Everyone was walking into the forest; the musicians leaving their instruments where they stood, dancers unfolding.

The forest was deathly quiet and it unnerved Mara. She almost tripped on hidden tree roots and on the slippery moss, only to be caught by the soldier, who had established himself at her elbow. Once she regained her footing, she murmured her thanks, working her elbow free with a hidden shudder.

Finally, they reached a clearing and Mara's stomach roiled. The ground was totally bare, except for scant patches of dead, yellow moss. There was an enormous mound of dirt and just the sight of it was unsettling. What was even more unsettling was the thing in front of that mound.

The sarcophagus was a beautiful thing of dark wood, carved with the figure and face of a beautiful young man. His hair was wreathed with oak leaves and ivy and his hands held ears of corn and roses. Intricate carvings of wheat and lotuses decorated the sides. Something about it however, nagged at Mara's senses, made her distinctly uneasy despite the fog that wrapped insidiously around her mind.

Thorne was barely able to stand on his own two feet; even as Mara moved to support him, several soldiers moved toward him to aid him, though their position instantly aroused suspicion. But in her guise, she couldn't do anything so she pretended not to notice.

To her irritation, they had brought the incense burners along and the heavy bitter floral scent still filled the air. She fought to keep her mind clear but without the fork, it was much more difficult. Instead, she tried to dig her fingernails into her palms but she kept them short out of necessity and they weren't nearly sharp or effective enough to keep her awake in that fog.

The shaman came forward and the congregation seemed to tremble. Fear filled the air, fear and anticipation, palpable and bitter-metallic.

"It is near dawn of a new cycle," the man said in spectral tones and another shiver ran through the crowd. "Another cycle of Life and Death, Rebirth and Growth."

The skies themselves seemed to rumble ominously above them, or was it just the growling of stringed instruments and the thuds of drums in the crowd?

"The Mother gives us life but takes it in return. She has Her Lover and devours him as well. We honor our Mother and thus- we give her a Lover." That voice was lulling and abrasive and Mara forgot to dig her fingernails into her palms, caught off guard.

"So we inter the Lover into the Earth's embrace," the shaman said pompously. "His blood spilled gives the Mother life!"

Then the men around Thorne pounced. The prince was too dazed to realize what was happening before it was too late. He was relieved of his weapons ruthlessly and dragged to the sarcophagus, which was opened, revealing nothing but a dark wood interior. Thorne screamed, a wholly undignified shriek that had nothing of dramatics in it and everything of pure, mindless fear.

Mara tried to leap for Thorne the moment he was ambushed, but two powerful arms wrapped around her and lifted her in the air. She kicked futilely, only now gaining enough comprehension to attack with everything she had. But her captor was as immovable as stone and she found no purchase with her soft, fragile slippers against hard leather and wood shin guards. She swore, trying to wriggle hard enough to get at one weapon, even if it was just the multi-tool…

By this time, Thorne was being shoved into the coffin, his hands and feet bound crudely as he kicked and struggled with everything he had. He was even biting, but his attacks were mostly futile, being that he was panicking, every action out of blind fear. Mara tried to slip out from under the giant arms that held her, but soon enough, they tightened so closely around her ribcage that her vision started going dark as she fought to just breathe.

And when her vision cleared, she could only watch in horror as the sarcophagus lid was slid on, trapping Thorne in the dark confines of a coffin.

* * *

GAB (Gratuitous Author Babble): 

It's a cliffhanger! (has to dodge rotten fruit and vegetables, not to mention the occasional flame) I've been planning this for a while, so it's both a relief and a scary thing that I'm finally uploading this. Mara's still jealous, does that surprise anyone? She's obsessed with the Captain position to the point it's almost a flaw. Does this mean she'll go as far as murder? Not really. But there is sometimes a very fine line dividing a driven hero and an obsessed villain…

Do you know what drives me insane? Enchantix powers. The leveling up _has to freaking stop_. More powerful than any other magic user? You have got to be kidding me.


	18. Chapter 17: Coffin Nails

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Coffin Nails

* * *

Later, whenever Mara spoke of this mission, she would always remember the cold numbness that spread through every bit of her body as well as a sudden flood of _reality_ and _comprehension_ that filled her. This moment was the most real of a fairy tale land; it was when she realized that the fairy tale always had a monster, a darkness, a potent and overwhelming fear. She hung, limp, in the enormous arms that held her tighter than iron. For several horrible moments, she could still hear Thorne's screams echoing in her ears.

Then, something inside of her roused itself. It was a cold, calculating voice that shook her to action. 'We have to move. Thorne is going to suffocate in there,' it whispered ominously yet coolly.

So for now, she had to lay low, pretend to be struck with shock and grief, even though she was only a few short steps from being truly frozen. But she shook off that grip, even as she had to shake off the grip of the drugged incense. Her eyes darted around quickly. Nearly all of the clan's warriors were here. Damnation. This wasn't going to be easy. But then her fingers itched and she found them moving into an eerily familiar position-

The thud of boots in front of her made her fingers freeze instantly. She glared up as the scent of heavy musk perfume barely masking rather foul body odor wafted into her nostrils.

"You aren't what you seem, are you, _Princess_ Marran?" the shaman mused aloud, a sneer working its way across his face and eyes.

Mara played dumb, masking the hatred and fury in her eyes with dazed confusion. She hid her flinch as he gripped her chin and inhaled deeply. Feeling absolutely foul, she gritted her teeth mutely.

"You'll be interesting in the time you'll be useful," he hissed. "Of course… you'll be nothing more than a memory, along with the prince's bodyguards."

Mara felt like a fist had clenched around her heart and lungs. Her fingers, without her consent, had moved again and she recognized what they were doing. The symbols and positions of an air spell- A-Ero, Iento, A-ra-shi- Tempest! She tucked her arms closely against her body and slipped down far enough to gain enough momentum for her foot to lash out. Her gamble paid as her slippered foot caught the shaman solidly on the jaw, knocking him back, even as she unleashed her Tempest spell, a brief explosion of violent, icy cold wind that startled her captor long enough to loosen his arms. Even as she tore open the buttons holding together the slits of her dress, sending pearl beads everywhere, she kicked backwards, taking the burly warrior out of commission. Her heart pounding, she retrieved her knife, hauling the shaman up by his greasy hair and holding the unsheathed crystal blade at his throat.

"Nobody comes near!" she bellowed. Her hair was coming loose in snarls and tangles around her face. "Or I slit his throat where I stand."

"Fool!" the shaman snarled, bent almost double but unwilling to move lest the wrong struggle worked the hissing blade into his vulnerable throat. "You've never killed! You'll never do it."

"Don't test me," Mara found herself snarling, her grip never shaking. Then she hissed, "Order them to get him out. Now."

He tried to utilize the same trick she did, trying to slide out to gain some momentum, but she was ready and jerked the knife a hair's breadth closer, putting the blade at an angle. She heard him snarl but finally, he made the order.

The warriors looked confused but not alarmed and she saw some of them move to the mound. This was almost too easy…

Then, something with the force of a car hit her in the abdomen. Wind knocked from her, she fell back, tripping on her skirts. She then found herself at the business end of several spears as the shaman picked himself from the ground and also picked up her crystal knife. He examined it for a long moment, eyes narrowing.

"A warrior?" he said, brows furrowed. "You carry a specialist's blade-"

Mara snarled at him, hand ready to seize her other blade. 'To what purpose?' that cold voice demanded of her. 'You're surrounded and there's too much a chance that one of them will gut you before you even kill one.'

_Kill one…._ Mara's heart stood still at the possibility of that. But she knew that if she had to, she would have to kill someone. Her eyes darted to the mound, where Thorne was. She promised to protect him, as a squad member, as a fellow student.

She was hauled to her feet, a blade always at her throat. Her arms were seized but luckily they weren't searching her for any more weapons yet. They still thought she was a princess, not a trained fighter past the basics of self-defense.

'What are you going to do now?' that cold voice whispered. Mara's hands refused to move and her mind rapidly went through what spells she could use. Not many. Not good.

Then a flash of red-orange. Mara felt something slacken and she crouched instantly, swinging her leg around to trip up the warriors around her. She hissed in pain as a flint blade cut into her upper arm; it was only a shallow cut and stung lightly. For now, she ignored the pain as she dug into her dress, bringing out her longer blade.

The hiss of the dark blue blade materializing was like the song of a long-lost friend. She swung out, forced to use one-handed style for the time being and having to compensate for lack of anything in her free hand.

As she regained sense of her surroundings, she realized her teammates were awake and fighting. Gregori was having far too much fun at others' expense, his face in a parody of a smile, as he lashed out with _his_ knife and sword. Speaking of which… Mara turned and saw the shaman, still holding her short blade, starting to move his hands in a strange formation.

She saw a flicker of something sickly yellow-orange, a color that made her stomach roil and her senses scream at the wrongness. Too far to pounce, she seized a fallen spear, praying that she could at least distract the spell-casting, and hurled it at the shaman. The shaman reacted far too quickly but by that point, Mara had launched herself at him. The flashes of his infant spell burned at her hands and face but she refused to let go, fighting revulsion and pain to use the hilt of her blade against his skull, beating him over and over until he wasn't moving.

Unable to think about what she had just done, she darted away after wrestling her knife from his filthy grip. She ran to the mound, hauling out the sarcophagus the rest of the way. Mara didn't rip Thorne out with her bare hands. She was more practical than that. She hacked ruthlessly into the wood, tearing it open.

Then she snarled in frustration, finding a metal layer beneath the wood. But she forced herself to think, even as she heard Gregori yell in pain. She used her smaller blade, thrusting it into the metal layer and hoping Thorne had enough sense to keep away from the crystal generated weapon. Once she had enough of a bearing, she pried off the metal with her longer weapon, finally cracking open the sarcophagus.

Thorne, babbling and lost in fear, tried to attack her, his fingernails ruined and bleeding. She put aside her weapons, wrapping him in a tight embrace. "Thorne, it's me, it's Mara," she said, letting him try to scratch her, even as he ripped at the thin silk of her dress and smeared it with blood.

He was crying, clinging to her with everything he had as she pulled him gingerly out from the confines of the sarcophagus. Her head turned to finally see what was going on.

Gregori was bleeding, a cut across his forehead dripping blood into his eyes, but he refused to let up in his attacks. Marcus was using his glaive to defend Gregori, able to hold off the clan warriors' spears with his longer weapon. Nathanial had gotten to the shaman's side and was hauling him up, now putting his red-orange rapier at the man's throat. The fighting stopped for the moment, Marcus supporting Gregori.

"Enough of this!" Nathanial shouted. "Let us go and we will not have to come to something ugly!"

His expression was hard for once, but Mara, even at the slight distance, could see that his hand was shaking. He had less of a taste for blood than even she did. Thorne trembled in Mara's arms and she shouldered the taller boy. Fortunately, he weighed less than her even though he was taller. She scooped up her weapons, which had discharged upon hitting the ground, tucking the hilts into her pocket.

"Fools!" the shaman snarled, now revived. Mara had broken his nose and his face dripped blood. "As though you'll get far!"

Nathanial jerked his blade up a little, making the man blanch. "Enough from you," he hissed. "You've cast a glamorie on these people haven't you? Haven't you?" He shook the other for emphasis.

A glamorie? That made sense, in a sick way. A glamorie explained why these people followed the shaman's orders so quickly, especially to the verge of treason in nearly killing a prince. Mara wasn't concerned with the story, though. She hefted Thorne and soon got him draped over her back, piggyback style.

The shaman snarled something and Nathanial shook the man again, like a terrier with a rat. Finally, a gnarled hand grabbed a plain clay charm and dropped it on the ground. Nathanial stomped on it until it was dust.

Everyone seemed to freeze and in midst of that eerie scene, Mara started to drag Thorne off to the glade where they had left their ship. Gregori and Marcus spotted her and limped together to follow her. Nathanial covered their back, still dragging the shaman along.

* * *

Mara looped to the village, using it as a point of reference. It was eerily empty, with the remaining incense burners starting to die. She looked around, trying to remember the way. Then she heard a yell. Whirling, she could only catch Nathanial falling back as the shaman fought free.

"You- you fouled all of this up!" the man snarled, pointing at Mara. "You- you'll pay for this!" His voice had jumped an octave. He gripped a charm around his neck, about to invoke a spell, when he yelped in pain.

Gregori smirked. "Fire spells are a bitch, aren't they?" He roughly wiped his forearm across his face, wiping blood away as it dripped into his eyes from under the crude bandage he had applied to it.

The shaman's fingers were blistering and raw, so damaged that Mara could see the flesh glistening. In pained fury, the man reached around, finding an incense burner, so blinded in his anger that he ignored the pain of holding the hot brass and clay, and hurling it at Mara's face.

Unable to dodge out of the way fast enough, not without sacrificing Thorne, she tried to get to the crouch. She heard something shatter and Nathanial's cry of horror. Marcus stood before her and Thorne, glaive out from where he had tried to deflect the burner. Instead, he had shattered it and the incense had exploded, hitting Marcus directly in the face.

Nathanial ran over to a stunned Marcus, who started to fall backwards. He caught the smaller boy, cradling him in his arms. Gregori, his face a mask of horror and pain, turned on the shaman, snarling. He kicked out at the shaman, knocking him back. His blade rose and Mara yelled, "Gregori, no!"

Gregori didn't turn around, still as a statue. Nathanial got up, holding Marcus against him.

"Gregori. Enough." Nathanial's voice was deep and choked but didn't shake for a single moment.

The curly-haired specialist looked as though he would defy two orders, but instead, he lowered his weapons, and, in a single, calculated kick, knocked the shaman against a tree root, knocking the madman unconscious.

By this time, Mara had gotten to Nathanial and nudged him. "Come on," she said. "I know the way."

* * *

By the time they got to the ship, they were ready for anything, especially Gregori, who had not staunched the blood on his forehead. It was anticlimactic, really, for no one had thought to guard the ship, or even destroy the engines. Once they got in, they locked themselves in, warming the engines and getting Marcus into their tiny Infirmary (which also doubled as a cargo hold).

Fortunately, Thorne was unconscious by this time and Mara wrapped him in a blanket, placing him on the bed in the front of the ship. With both their medic and their pilot and mechanic out of commission- Mara's mouth tightened. She did get Gregori to sit down long enough to clean his wound and bandage it. He hissed in pain as she applied the antiseptic laced bandage to his cleaned forehead but otherwise remained stonily silent. She then attended to Marcus once she applied a bandage to practically closed cut on her arm. Meanwhile, Nathanial did a sweep of the ship. Forcing herself to relax, she activated the diagnostic tool on the bed they had laid Marcus on, staring as the clear blue band swept over the boy's body.

"How bad is it?" Nathanial's voice was quiet and hoarse. She didn't jump but her hand had reached unconsciously for her sword.

"Not as bad as we thought it was. Fortunately most of the incense was burned out by the time it exploded," Mara said, forcing her voice to be steady.

"The bad news?" he asked, too easily hearing the "but" at the end of that sentence.

"The incense was very potent. The diagnostic doesn't have exact names but the stuff probably had a lot of narcotics and a handful of hallucinogens, most of them at levels high enough to kill someone," Mara answered.

"Any antidotes?" Nathanial sounded edgy. Mara read between the lines. None of them were skilled enough pilots to get out of this place, especially at dawn. Only Marcus had the ability.

She stared down at the boy in question. He looked so small, so pale, so vulnerable there. Her heart broke at the sight.

"There's one solution," Mara said, after a long moment. "But it's dangerous. If the diagnostic isn't correct or if I'm not careful… I can kill him."

"What is it?" Nathanial demanded.

"I pump him full of stimulants," Mara answered. "It won't flush the drugs from his system but the process should counter the effects. We'll still have to de-tox him but if I get enough stimulants in, we can get him awake and aware enough to get out of here, at least long enough to get us through the tree cover."

"But if you mess up," Nathanial said, slowly realizing. "You can kill him by either creating a deadly reaction or causing his heart to give out." He stared at Marcus. Then he turned away. "Do it."

Mara took in a deep breath and went to the cabinet where they kept a full medical kit, including some unconventional herbal remedies Thorne had insisted on including. She pulled down three vials with corresponding hypodermic needles, praying that she remembered the exact proportions. Washing her hands and cleaning Marcus's arms, she took another breath, picking up the first vial, filled with a deep green liquid, and filling a needle.

The process only took about five minutes but it seemed like an eternity as she watched each drop of brilliantly colored stimulant disappearing into Marcus's veins. Then time began again as she bandaged his arm and kept an eye on his vitals. There was only waiting to be done. So she waited, numb.

After what seemed like an eternity, Marcus's lips parted and he let out a long breath. His eyes rolled from under their lids and he seemed to fight to wake. She drew closer as he trembled a little. Then he sat up, bolt upright, his head turning to look at her. He seemed to have forgotten to breathe for a minute and she was about to hit his back, when he coughed, shaking his head.

"Mara, what happened?" he asked shakily. He looked at his trembling fingers.

"Never mind that. We have to get out of here." She reached over to help him off the table.

"Mara, what happened?"

At that tone, Mara had to answer. "You got hit by one of the incense burners. In the face. Look, we need you to launch us out of here."

He shook his head, violently. "I don't think- I can," he whispered. He tried to stifle a yawn.

"You _can_," Mara said, gripping his shoulders. "You are the only one who can do this. I believe you can. We all depend on you."

Marcus stared at her. Mara shook him a little. "Thorne needs you," she whispered.

He looked away from her. His fists clenched. "All right then." He slid off the table and strode, purposefully, to the pilot's deck.

Nathanial and Gregori were there too, both having done independent sweeps of the ship. Marcus slid into his seat, ignoring both boys' comments and exclamations. He seemed to need to compose himself before his trembling fingers reached out and punched a launching code into the console in front of him. The ship lurched slowly, engines humming, and they started to hover upwards. Marcus kept his grip on the joystick, staring intently at the window and monitors before him. His knuckles were white.

The still conscious team members seemed to be holding their breaths collectively. Once they cleared the trees, that breath seemed to be let out simultaneously. Mara touched at Marcus's shoulder.

"You did great, Marcus," she whispered. And she felt him relax, just a little, under her hand.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, but there was palpable relief when they landed in the palace courtyard. Mara went to Thorne but Nathanial stopped her.

"I'll take care of this," he told her.

Mara sighed and let him. Instead, she applied herself to Marcus, helping him out of the pilot's chair. The incense was coming back in force; he was forcing himself to keep his eyes open and failing. She yelled out for a healer as she hurried out with him in her arms.

The events after that were a blur to Mara. She could only vaguely recall Thorne being lifted from Nathanial's arms, could only remember briefly that she and Nathanial and Gregori were ushered to bathing chambers to get cleaned and dressed in fresh clothing. Maybe she had been drugged, maybe sleep had finally caught up to her. There was only one memory that had stood clear and fresh in her mind. She had been undressed and she had caught a glimpse of the spell scarf around her waist. There had been a gray-yellow tinge to it and the scarf had smelled vaguely of that sickeningly sweet incense as she untied it. As she shook out the cloth, the color and scent vanished, leaving only plain gray cloth the color of autumn mist and winter fog. She had let out a soft, slightly hysterical laugh. It had helped her out the entire time by protecting her from the worst of the incense. It had been useful after all.

After that, she could only remember waking up in the bed of her guest chamber, staring up at the ceiling as afternoon sunlight danced through her small window. Slowly, she slid out of bed, finding herself in a plain white night shirt. It had no frills, no embroidery, just finely woven linen that was nicely soft and cool against her skin. That was a relief for her, considering she had half expected herself to be in some lacy pink monstrosity. There was food waiting for her on a small tray on her table. When she lifted the covers, she discovered pastries, soup, and tea, which she fell upon with a fierce hunger.

She had finished all of the soup and was polishing off the pastries in a distracted manner when there was a polite knock at her door. Searching around, she found a cream colored wool robe trimmed with satin ribbon and slipped it on, also tucking her feet into matching slippers.

She did not expect the person standing in the doorway.

Instantly, she bowed, a courtly bow. "Your majesty," she said.

The Queen looked very old and very weary, though she had no less presence than ever. Instead of an ornate coronet, she merely wore a simple gold hair comb decorated with a crown and a royal signet ring (a jade and gold emblem of a willow tree and a rising sun). The rest of her clothing was simple, a dark green gown with a matching stole lined with dark gray silk.

"Do not worry about formalities, Mara Frey," she said. "If I may enter?"

Mara backed from the doorway. "Yes, yes, your majesty."

The Queen sat across from Mara and declined a cup of tea. The girl paused, about to ask but not knowing about royal protocol.

"My son… is in his chambers. He calls for you," the Queen said, quietly. "He refuses to let the healers touch him. The guards frighten him."

Mara swallowed. "I see, your Majesty. I will go to him as soon as I am able-"

"I must thank you for what you have done for my son, myself, nay, this entire kingdom," the Queen said and bowed to Mara.

Slightly flustered at the sight, Mara answered, "It is no less than my duty. Your Majesty."

"Nevertheless, I have heard, especially from your squad leader, Prince Nathanial, that you are responsible for my son's and the entire squad's safety."

Mara flushed, unable to find an answer. "I am only glad we made it out of there alive."

"Indeed." The Queen's eyes hardened. "I have sent troops there, to find an answer." She then rose and Mara hastily got to her feet as well. "Please… come to my son once you have finished your meal. I believe I must ask your services again."

Mara bowed low as the Queen swept out, before eyeing her meal. Somehow, she had lost her appetite.

* * *

Wearing her uniform (the only clean clothing she had with her), Mara sat by Thorne's bed. At least there was one good thing about the situation, she thought darkly. The Dress from Hell was dead and gone. She had torn off most of the buttons, dripped blood all over it, and covered it with soot. Magic would have a hard time saving that thing. Luckily, she had a legitimate reason for ruining it.

Thorne had been throwing fits once she had entered the room, but once she had gotten to his side and touched his shoulder, gently, he calmed down long enough for healers to treat his damaged hands. Mara had persuaded him to drink a dream-less sleep tea and so he finally slept peacefully, though Mara remained, in case he woke up in a fit again.

She watched Thorne's pale, drawn face and felt sorry for him. Poor thing. Upon impulse, she brushed strands of hair from his face. She remembered looking at Marcus and feeling as though a void had opened to swallow her whole. It wasn't right seeing the boy limp and comatose on a medical table; she had never felt so helpless, so lost- There was a knock on the door and she whirled, reaching unconsciously for her hilts, now properly at her hip.

"Enter," she said in a low voice.

Nathanial came in, wearing casual clothing, khakis and a rust-red shirt. Mara relaxed a little at the sight of the squad leader.

"How is he doing?" he whispered, pulling up a chair by Mara without so much as a request for permission.

"He's been sleeping for the last-" Mara checked a clock and did a double take. "Four hours."

"You've been here this whole time?" Nathanial asked somewhat incredulously.

Mara nodded slowly. "The Queen asked me to… I've talked with the Healers. He's trying to deal with the time he spent in that- that coffin. It seems that I'm the only one would can help him relax, except for his mother."

Nathanial shook his head. "Dammit," he murmured.

"By the way- how is Marcus? And Gregori?" Mara inquired cautiously.

"Marcus is sleeping off the de-tox treatment. The healer was mad about all the stimulants we pumped into his system but admitted that it was the best treatment for the time. Gregori's with Marcus and got the cut on his head patched up." Nathanial looked somewhat chagrined.

After a silence, she asked, "What have you been doing?"

Nathanial closed his eyes. "This and that. I've been helping the guards to piece together what happened. I've been checking on Gregori and Marcus. I've been sleeping."

"That's good." Mara grasped at Thorne's hand gently, before tucking it back into the bed.

"This wasn't the easy mission we thought it would be," Nathanial said after a long moment.

"Mmm." Mara didn't look at him.

"I know that you're dying to say 'I told you so.'"

Silence.

"You don't have to rub it in."

"Who says I am?" Mara looked at Nathanial and there was no humor in her eyes.

* * *

Thorne woke up again at around midnight.

"Mara?" he whispered.

Mara was ready with a glass of water. She helped him sit up and take a few cautious sips.

"Take it easy. I should call in one of the healers," she told him, reaching for a communicator

Thorne shook his head quickly. "No, don't, please," he pleaded quietly, lying back down again.

"I should, really."

"I'm going to go back to sleep," Thorne said softly. He yawned and settled into the covers. "Mara… I think I love you," he murmured sleepily before finally drifting off.

Mara froze in her place. She barely got the glass onto a table. Her hand reached out and gently took his hand off hers.

"You don't love me," she found herself saying. "You're just tired and scared. I'm just the most convenient person." With that, she tucked him into bed again and went out of the room.

* * *

"Mara!" Marcus was looking decidedly cheerful, propped up by a number of pillows.

She smiled at him, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. "How've you been?" She had just gotten word that he had finally woken up and had hurried to talk to him, at least a little.

"Well, they've been stuffing tea down my throat every half hour." He grimaced. "Not very good tea either."

Mara laughed and pulled something out from her belt pouch. "Here. Have this then."

Marcus blinked as she dropped a small bag of candy into his hands. "Mara, you don't have to-"

"I can get more any time. You deserve it, Marcus. So dig in." She winked at him. "Before I steal them back!"

Marcus opened the bag, starting to help himself to gumdrops. "But- you did a lot of the work, Mara," he said, mouth bulging with cinnamon and peppermint flavored candy.

"No I didn't," she corrected him gently. "You did quite a bit too. Fighting all those drugs long enough to pilot that ship? That took quite a bit out of you."

"I still fell asleep…" His expression darkened and he stared at the bag of candy on his lap glumly.

"Look- that's why we're a squad and we watch out for each other." She patted his hands. "I just happened to be lucky enough to stay awake this time. Maybe next time I won't be so lucky. Then someone's going to have to be aware enough to haul our butts up."

Marcus swallowed. "I- guess so."

"Oh, here." Mara pulled something out of her pocket and tucked it into Marcus's hand.

"What is this?" The boy held up the slightly battered pin to the light. It was made of bronze, lovingly polished but definitely old, with the image of a winged man bearing a sword.

Mara smiled. "It belonged to a good uncle of mine. It's called a St. Michael's medal. St. Michael protects soldiers and warriors. I want you to have it."

"I can't take this," Marcus breathed. "It's- yours. It belongs to you. I-I don't even deserve this."

Mara shook her head. "You deserve it. For your courage yesterday. Keep it to remind yourself of your courage always."

She closed his fingers around the pin. "You did well, Specialist Marcus," she said solemnly and he stared at her in wonder, before a tremulous smile filled his face.

* * *

Mara's expression was not a good one, considering it was the sort of expression that usually made Gregori look around for a suitable place to hide. She was currently seated in one of the royal audience chambers, along with the rest of her squad, excepting Thorne, who was still recovering.

The Queen was seated in an enormous armchair that had the look of a throne while everyone else was seated in smaller but no less comfortable chairs around a moderate sized table. Seated at the end of the table was the Head of the Guard, a very tall man with shaggy dark brown hair and shrewd green eyes.

"Our scouts came back," the captain said. "And they have a full report." He put down a rather large parchment file.

"This will be recorded," the Queen said quietly. "But it will be in the restricted Archives."

"I disagree, your Majesty," the captain replied respectfully. "I believe it should be a lesson to all of us, especially in our weak intelligence units."

The woman's mouth frowned briefly but she nodded finally in assent. "Very well then. Continue, captain."

"Our scouts came back the other day and they reported that the village is in chaos. Relief forces were sent to organize and rebuild. However, we managed to get the story of the past few months from a fugitive we found in the forest."

The Captain was a good speaker and he laid out the story quickly yet thoroughly. The Wisewoman had been killed from a mysterious illness that had paralyzed her. As she was dying, a strange "acquaintance" of hers came to the tribe and tended to her, claiming to be channeling her advice and her commands. After she died, he became the shaman of the tribe, declaring that it had been the last wish of the Wisewoman.

Some, especially the warriors, had resisted, already mistrustful of this stranger, and their words were powerful, for many of them were trusted and admired figures. The shaman had cast a glamorie over the whole clan, killing those who resisted. He was far from an ascetic, having taken his fill of several of the prettiest girls in the village under the pretenses of "tradition" and "tutorial." That was how he gained some followers, particularly warriors, by granting them "favors" from the girls.

The fugitive had been vague about the man's purpose in burying Thorne alive, but under "persuasion," had said that the ritual was a perversion of a fertility rite, starting from dead, desecrated ground and culminating with the sacrifice of an innocent, particularly of royal blood. As it was, the Captain noted, some of the sorcerers on the guard were currently analyzing the area for any trace they could use to trace a spell. Efforts were fumbled by the crudeness of the set-up and the quickly disappearing traces of the Shaman's undone magic. However, the heads of the team were positive they had a lead one the identity of the cell.

Once the glamorie had been broken, the people who came to gained enough sense to seize as many of the shaman's actual supporters possible (mostly the warriors who had initially resisted the usurper's rule and had escaped execution). However, much of the clan was disoriented, especially the young and the old, who had responded negatively to the incense and the removal of the glamorie.

The shaman was still at large.

The captain ended his report promptly and waited for the Queen's response. She was remarkably relaxed but her eyes blazed. "I take it, captain, that troops are searching for that- that- usurper?"

"Yes, your majesty. Sorcerers are using blood traces to track him."

"Good." The Queen's lips had tightened into a grim smile. "He will be tried by the highest codes when captured."

The captain bowed but Mara caught a glimpse of a matching smile that was as grim as any could be.

* * *

Mara found solace in one of the castle towers. It was one of her quirks since she was a child, for whenever she was upset or needed to think, she went to the highest place she could find, whether it was on the roof or in a tree. Today was no different. She was still in her standard issue uniform but didn't bother to bind her chest today. There was no use in hiding the fact that she was a girl.

Crono had understood her brooding mood and had been obliging as an music player. So she listened to rock ballads as she watched the sun go down in the horizon.

"Mind if I join you?"

Mara yelped loudly, groping for her blade. Nathanial, grinning cheekily, was standing next to her.

"Nathanial! What the hell?" she gasped.

"I take that as a yes." He sat down next to her.

"When did you learn to walk like a cat?" Mara asked once her heart rate had gone down.

"Practice." He added, "You also weren't on your guard."

Mara grumbled. "Fine."

Out of politeness, she tugged out her headphones. She turned to turn off the player when she found herself being offered a cup of tea. Blinking, she looked up to see a smiling Nathanial holding the cup.

"Peace offering?" he asked.

Mara sighed and thanked him, taking the cup. Sipping it slowly, she was surprised to find it was one of her favorite drinks, spicy and sweet black tea swimming with cream.

"I figured you liked it," he explained. His smile was somehow more sincere, almost sweet.

"It's good," Mara admitted. She studied him for a while, sipping her tea slowly. He didn't always look at her while he chattered about this and that.

"By the way… you've gotten commendations," he mentioned casually.

Mara nearly choked, eyes bulging. "What?!" Commendations were issued by any military leader or political ruler personally praising individual Red Fountain students. Obviously, they were rare and sought after quite avidly.

"The Queen, backed by the Captain of the Guard, has signed one for you. For 'heroic deeds for the Crown,' apparently. Of course, we all got one from the Captain but you've got two signatures on yours." Nathanial was grinning.

"I didn't even do that much," Mara sputtered. "If you all hadn't been there…"

"You were aware when we weren't, though," Nathanial told her quietly.

"You don't understand!" Mara said, almost hysterically. "It was just pure dumb luck. I had a Spell Cloth!"

Nathanial froze and turned to look at her intently. His calmness gave her enough time to catch her breath and regain some tattered dignity. "That doesn't change anything, Mara," he told her gently. "Though you were protected… you used the chance it gave you to act. And have you not forgotten your quick thinking in getting us out of there?"

"Marcus deserves the Queen's commendation," Mara muttered.

"You're frustrating."

The mild insult stopped her in her tracks. "What?"

"You're a very frustrating individual," Nathanial repeated slowly. "I think that it won't end either." Despite his words, there was a slight smile on his face.

"So?" Mara spat.

"So, you confuse the hell out of everyone," Nathanial answered bluntly but kindly. "Or is it just how you defend yourself?"

She turned away from him, swallowing the last of her tea to delay her answer. The dregs were cold, bitter and strong. "It's just the way I am," she replied flatly.

Then, he asked, quietly, "Why do you push me away? Is it that I bother you?" His expression was curious and somewhat sober.

Mara didn't answer him. He continued, as if she had spoken, "I guess I am vexing to someone like you. You think I'm too light-hearted, not able to be taken seriously. I talk too much and what I say isn't too serious either. I also have the position you want, too. You can't stand people like me, can you?"

"It's not that you're vexing," Mara found herself saying. "But you are. You remind me of someone who doesn't care, someone who doesn't realize how much words can hurt, someone who demeans words."

"Were you turned down in the past?" Nathanial asked curiously, his tone so light and delicate that she couldn't find it in herself to be angry. "Did you have your heart broken?"

"No," Mara stated tartly. "Not that it's any of your business. But I've seen people I care about hurt by cretins who use nice words." She looked at him intensely before admitting, quietly, "It's not that I hate you, Nathanial, I don't know you at all."

"You know all the information in my file," Nathanial offered. "There's not much past that."

Mara snorted indelicately. "You of all people should know that files don't sum up a person." She put her cup down. "Most of the people I'm with, Gareth, Bishop, W, Marcus, Gregori… I know who they are. I know that they aren't just air and light at the very least. You- when I reach out, I feel smoke."

"Is that really how you see me?" Nathanial asked softly.

Mara shrugged in frustration. "Whenever I try to look at you, properly, you seem to dart out of the way. Like the way you fence."

Nathanial seemed to contemplate her words, mulling over them slowly. "I've never thought of it that way," he admitted, a little chagrined.

"Maybe it's because you haven't met a person like me."

"You're one of a kind," he said with a soft laugh. "You are definitely your own person.

Mara smiled crookedly. "Thanks."

"By the way, are you going to take that commendation or not? There's a dinner tonight. For all of us," he added quickly.

Mara considered it further. Then she said, "I'll take it… as long as Marcus gets a commendation too."

"You shouldn't-"

"Please." Mara looked directly at Nathanial. "You can talk to her, the Queen, I mean. I'm sure you can persuade her."

"Why are you so determined he gets one? I mean, what if it comes at the cost of _your_ commendation?"

"He deserves it. He was ready to sacrifice himself and you know it. And he fought so hard…" She hesitated. "He deserves a commendation, if only for the pilots' division, Nathanial. I don't know a single pilot who can fly out of deep forest cover while nearly incapacitated."

"I'll- see what I can do," Nathanial said, looking chagrined. He let out a long breath and pulled his fingers through his cropped white hair. "You drive a hard bargain."

"It's the least I can do," Mara retorted and got to her feet. "Now, I believe we have a banquet to get to?"

He got up and offered his arm to her cavalierly. She sneered at him and not-so-gently pushed him out of the way as he laughed at her before running off for his life as she chased him.

* * *

Gratuitous Author's Babble (GAB):

Whew! That was hard! I pumped this out as fast as I could… Well then, Mara passed her first mission with flying colors, with honors too! Trust me, it won't be the same but Mara is going to be something of a secret weapon in the squad because of her eclectic abilities.

By the way, I've been catching up on Winx Club, at least the third season, and I'm disgusted. I'm currently on the episode where Bloom achieves her Enchantix and rolled my eyes through every minute. The other girls, supposedly the most powerful beings in the universe, beaten within seconds by mortals. The boys weren't much better either. Top of their class? Right.

And finally, some Mara and Nathanial dynamic! I've been pushing them together but they refuse to act the way I want them to… damn them. Mara pretty much wrote this chapter, by the way, with Nathanial making cheeky notes here and there. Those two will probably make a guest entrance in next chapter's GAB.

But if you think about it, Mara and Nathanial are much more similar than they expect, probably because of similar family dynamics. Both are the youngest (Or one of the younger ones, in Mara's case) and only one of the opposite sex of the rest of their siblings. However, because of their personalities, they reacted differently to the ways their families treated them. Nathanial had fun with all the attention he got as the youngest and the only boy. Mara chafed at being the only girl, especially because her father has "firm views" on girls and still tends to smother her a little, not to mention the fact that _all_ her brothers insist on trying to protect her. The two have similar senses of humor and views of the world, but they show their reactions differently. While Nathanial pastes a smile on his face, Mara turns her back silently. Interesting, no?


	19. Chapter 18: A Job Well Done

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: A Job Well Done

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, a boys' school often held just as much a network of gossip as a girls' institute. Certainly rumors flew around once Mara's squad came back to Red Fountain, with different levels of credibility. Mara ignored them and left Nathanial to do damage control, not that he ever would do such a thing. He likely encouraged them. Well, it wasn't anything so horrible that a few solid thumps with a practice stave couldn't fix.

However, before such "persuasion" took place, or even the opportunity to listen to such things that would encourage said persuasion, the squad had to make their reports.

All five of them, in their uniforms, had stood in Codatorta's cramped, mismatched office, daring not to take the five badly clashing, rickety chairs crammed into the limited space Codartorta had pretended to seal "Important Reports" with burgundy wax and a ridiculously large wooden stamp with a gnarled handle. Of course, none of them had dared laugh. He then had looked at them intensely, without real rancor. For that moment.

Nathanial had made the official report in a polite, perfunctory tone once addressed. Questions had followed and had been answered promptly and a little tersely.

Codatorta had then held up four parchment envelopes, all of them sealed with a pine green seal of a spear wrapped ivy leaves, the image placed in a lozenge, and trimmed with a yellow-green ribbon. All of them except for two. Two of them had had an even larger wax medallion affixed to them, made of silver wax with intricate details in emerald green ink and flecks of gold, adorned with trailing tendrils of magically preserved ivy. The medallion was of a setting sun on a forest, the scene wreathed in molded ivy vines.

"Commendations for four of ye," he had commented, bushy eyebrows coming together in a "v." "No small thing for a firs' mission."

Especially such an easy one, had been the underlying comment.

Codatorta had fixed Thorne, who had quickly turned pale, a long glance. Then he had fixed Mara and Marcus with another, his gaze gaining more heat upon seeing Mara. Then he had dismissed them.

Once out of Codatorta's oppressive office, Mara had bid a fond but brief farewell to the rest of her companions before heading back up to her room. The hallways had been empty and she lost herself in thought, her rucksack over her shoulder.

It was curious having attained that commendation. She absently opened her door, never minding a possible booby trap. Fortunately for her, there was nothing unsavory waiting for her. She closed the door behind her and went into the shower after tossing her rucksack onto the floor by her bed. Her clothes and boots went flying as she entered the shower, taking masochistic pleasure in running the water as hot as humanly possible. She let the water rain against her tensed back and felt the muscles uncoil reluctantly as her skin began to protest at this attempt at pan-broiling.

The human mind has a tendency to lapse into a state that isn't quite relaxation but isn't quite _there_. The best possible word for it is _un-thinking_, when the mind is allowed to drift wherever it may but does not latch onto any particular thoughts. It usually occurs when one has no particular pressing need for anything or any particular reason to pay attention to reality. Some could say it's a sort of boredom, a haziness one gets when there is nothing to do and nothing to distract oneself with.

Mara wasn't the type of girl to indulge in that sort of nonsense (as she loftily thought of it) but she found herself in that state as she stood in her shower. It could have been for five minutes, it could have been for fifty. Absently, she realized that she couldn't stand in there forever so she turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Rubbing her cropped hair dry, she stared into the mirror, a little wary this time. She avoided looking into her bathroom mirror unless absolutely necessary and had even contemplated getting rid of it (of course, that had been when she was slightly tipsy and not thinking through things enough).

After four months of schooling, she had grown gaunter, or maybe it was just puberty. Her face wasn't quite so round anymore and she looked- harsh. Or maybe just a little pricklier, she admitted. As it were, she wasn't the sort of girl who attracted boys' attention. Flat as the proverbial board, still flat, well- with a little attention now yes, round face that contrasted with her otherwise muscled figure, which was also something of a detraction. Most boys didn't like girls who had better defined biceps than they did. Maybe it was the eyes? Or was it the mouth?

Mara wasn't the sort of person to smile very often. It wasn't as though she was a particularly grim individual (though her brothers used to tease her by calling her "old lady" from time to time) but she didn't smile a lot. She saw no reason to and besides… she self-consciously touched her lips. Her lips were turned downwards already and they were rather small.

She looked away from the mirror hastily as she combed her hair out with a few rough strokes. After drying herself off, she pulled on some comfortable clothing, namely a very old black t-shirt and slouchy and very wrinkled green drawstring pants. She unpacked her rucksack in silence, not that she had brought many personal items.

Though she started up her laptop, she didn't feel inclined to surf the 'Net and sat in her chair in frustrating indolence. She almost jumped out of her chair at the knock at the door.

"Enter," she said after regaining her dignity at being caught off guard like that.

Gareth came in and she found herself smiling. He wasn't in his training attire, so she deduced that he wouldn't be torturing her for the night.

"Couldn't stop by to see your instructor?" he teased without preamble.

"Maybe I was going to," she retorted.

"Not dressed like that, I'm sure."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You sound like Andrei."

"Just because I like fashion-" He smiled self-deprecatingly. "Ah, I'm not falling into that one…"

"There's nothing wrong with being like Andrei," she offered innocently.

He snorted, a rather coarse sound from such a statuesque man. "Come on. Up!" He came over to pull her out of her chair.

"Where are we going?" she asked, suddenly wary. "I'm not going in this-!" She yelped as he pulled her out and kicked her to the door with a measured shove at her rear.

He got her out of her room as she shrilly protested all the way. Then, without a by-your-leave, he covered her eyes with a broad hand and took her into a room. She scratched at him, not pleased at all, and he cuffed her affectionately but hard enough to get her to stop. Gareth still knew more dirty tricks than she did and she had a feeling he'd use them.

Then she was blindfolded and she was not pleased at all. Then Gareth murmured into her ear, "Do you trust me?"

She froze as he softened his grip. He only had a hand on her elbow, a hand she could remove with very little difficulty. Then most of her protests flew away. This was Gareth, who had risked his job and his reputation to mentor her, who always looked out for her and trained her, even if she grew waspish with him. She nodded, slowly.

"Good." He then led her forward a few steps. She heard a door open and Gareth took her inside. For a moment, she smelled chocolate and something very tasty cooking.

Then he took the blindfold off her and she blinked at the sudden light and the boys that suddenly crowded her vision.

"Surprise!" they hollered. And then she was flooded by congratulations and other roughly friendly phrases. She must have looked priceless with a completely stunned expression on her face as various boys, most of whom she only knew in passing, thumped her on the back, shook her hand in a platonic pump, elbowed her in the ribs playfully.

Then she looked at Gareth, who was grinning like a fiend. "You!" she accused above the suddenly roaring music that filled the air.

"Me," he said with a wicked smile. Then he rescued her and she saw, with relief, more friendly faces. Bishop was DJ again and with his laptop, though he offered her a faint but sincere smile at her glance. W came running up to grab her in a headlock, which she discouraged with a sharp elbow to his ribs.

Nathanial, Thorne, Gregori and Marcus were milling around, talking with her greeting committee, all of them with drinks in hand. Even Thorne looked remarkably relaxed as he mostly listened.

Mara opened her mouth to ask something but was distracted as Gareth pulled her over to the food-laden tables. The boys had overdone themselves this time, with hot pizza all but sizzling on hot stone plates, mountains of cookies and slices of cake, and even a trio of fondue pots. She sniffed experimentally, noting cheese, garlic and chocolate. Suddenly, her appetite roared to life and she tucked in generously. Gareth got her a glass of lemonade and she nodded her approval; it had been made with mint and a bit of salt too. She finally nibbled on a skewer of white cake, strawberries and banana slices drizzled in chocolate as she surveyed the room, before looking at her mentor with a vaguely accusing expression.

He caught on quickly and said, "They wanted to come too. You're more liked than you think."

Mara almost choked on a strawberry. Gareth helpfully thumped on her back. "It didn't occur to me," she said hoarsely.

"Of course it doesn't," he said promptly. "You're the most self-deprecating girl I know."

He caught her eye intently and said sternly, "You're as arrogant as they come, kid, when it comes to your abilities. But you certainly are hard on yourself when it comes to people."

She shrugged as she ate the last banana on her skewer, licking chocolate from her fingers. "I didn't come here to be liked," she answered. "I came here to learn."

Gareth reached out and she tensed a little, expecting to get one of his characteristic whaps to the back of the head. However, he didn't hit her, his hand ruffling her hair. "You did well, kid. You did well."

And somehow, that made her feel the best that she had ever felt for a very long time.

* * *

Mara was back to training for the next few weeks. Nothing had changed, not even the course load, and she plodded through the days easily enough. She kept an eye on Thorne but he seemed all right. He never mentioned what he said to her and she was inclined to let sleeping dogs lie.

However, orders came through and when she realized them, she blinked in utter surprise. She was going to Gregori's realm.

* * *

Gregori flushed in embarrassment, an interesting expression on the normally irrepressibly cheeky boy. "Border patrol," he said lamely. "There's been some odd activity in the north and I've been told that it would be good experience."

Nathanial arched his white eyebrows but didn't make an appropriately teasing comment, which surprised all of them, Gregori included.

They weren't in a debriefing chamber, surprisingly enough, for the mission was such a small one that their squad leader had been given information and Codatorta would give them a last "lecture" the day they left. So Nathanial had called them for a meeting after classes but before dinner.

The five of them were sitting in the courtyard, having a cold drink and nibbling on snacks that Mara had thoughtfully brought. Though one would have wondered at the wisdom of debriefing in such an open area, Nathanial had explained to them why one had discussions in the open.

"No one expects you to have them out here," he had said patiently. "Which is why we'll be left alone. Though if we look like we're picnicking, that'll be all and well too."

To their surprise, he was right. They were ignored by the scant students who came out, most of those passing running to some place or another.

Nathanial had the packet of information and detailed it for them succinctly. It was a simple guard shadowing for a few days in the forests a day north from the castle. Some curious activity had been detected, involving a possible werewolf that was prowling about. No real damage had been done but the incident merited some attention.

"This doesn't look too difficult," murmured Mara. She was looking at some of the pictures included. "It's all for show, I suppose."

Nathanial gave her a severe look. Gregori choked on his cherry soda. Marcus laughed.

She looked at them. "It's true," she said candidly.

"That being said," Nathanial said with exaggerated dignity. "We must take every mission as seriously as possible. It is our honored duty-" Thorne surprised them by dropping his cup of tea into their esteemed leader's lap. No persuasion could have Nathanial believe it was an accident.

* * *

GAB (Gratuitous Author Babble):

Yes, a short chapter, I know. But I promise to have an extra long one for you at my next update! I apologize for my extended absence; I was on sabbatical abroad. A very restful sabbatical at that…

I would like to formally announce that over the next few months I will likely be rewriting Under Shadowed Wings. Not extensively, mind, but tweaking character descriptions and adjusting certain transitions that have been bothering me for the last few months.

Mara: She means that it's an excuse to escape Chemistry homework.

Nathanial: Hello everyone. Especially to the charming ladies out there- /is whapped by Mara/

Mara/rolls eyes/ Excuse the idiot, please. By the way, I'd like to personally thank all of you out there for your compliments. I never expected to be so popular. So thank you very much.

Nathanial: The ladies love me and you know it.

Mara: Give me a break.

Nathanial: Not to mention the sexual tension between us is enough to- /whacked by a two-by-four by Mara/

Mara: He said nothing. /drags Nathanial's unconscious body off stage/


	20. Chapter 19: A Twisted Tale of Family

Pre-A/N: I decided to try something slightly new for this chapter: vignette style thoughts in between sections. Try to get who they're referring to!

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: A Twisted Tale of Familial Frolics

* * *

_I saw everything from a window. That person was the one I would love. I already knew it, from the moment I put my eyes on that face…_

Mara Frey mopped her sweaty brow as she exited the ship. "At the risk of sounding stupid, are heat waves typical this time of year?" she asked.

Gregori shrugged. He, disgustingly enough, wasn't disturbed by the heat, his gold curls just as impudent as ever. "It's not that hot," he said lightly.

Mara barely restrained herself from slapping him silly because a) he wasn't worth it and b) it usually isn't the wisest course of action to inflict violence on a prince in his own kingdom. She settled for sighing, shaking her head, and digging into a pocket for her bandanna. Then again, his realm was called Lucern. She should have figured.

Their arrival was not of any particular note, which was to say that Marcus was not hard-pressed to land in the militarily precise courtyard designated for their use. Mara had the time to properly admire the elegantly appointed castle, which had the same fantastical feel of Thorne's home but none of its ethereal fragility. It was less of a castle and more of a curious amalgam of city and fortress complex, if she were to be frank, reminding her curiously of the white and rose towers she had seen during a family vacation to Spain. There were a lot more windows and the roofs glittered fiercely with brass-gilded scarlet tiles. Despite the beauty, she knew that this place was made for defense and she approved.

"We won't be here too long," Nathanial said, breaking the reverie. "We're heading out to the forests at dawn tomorrow."

"Any parties?" Marcus asked casually. He too didn't seem affected by the heat, with nary a drop of sweat on his pale forehead.

"Not likely," Gregori replied for Nathanial. "It's holiday time for most of the court here. They're off at their personal homes or vacationing somewhere else."

Mara breathed a sigh of relief. No dresses this time.

"Your father isn't here either, I see," Marcus observed thoughtfully.

Gregori nodded. "He has business so he's in the Western Fortress for now." He didn't seem too disappointed at the prospect, to Mara's surprise, though she didn't address it.

She'd long since learned that royal families were entities all unto their own. And who was she to comment on unconventional families? She looked up at the towers and thought she saw a glimpse of someone peeking out a distant window, or perhaps just a flash of gold and white.

_They call palaces gilded cages; I can understand that feeling. I have never been outside before. It is because I am too young, they tell me. I do not think so. They only trap me here because of what I am, who I am, something meant to be hidden._

_I have never wanted for nothing. But rows upon rows of dolls in my rooms stare at me with dead eyes and the walls seem to close in me in a beautiful prison._

Mara let out a ragged sigh as she retreated to the gardens. She was in formal state, her hair slicked back and her boots and cloak pin polished to an inch of their lives. As she breathed in sweetly scented and swiftly cooling twilight air, she tried to calm herself.

She had been expecting cool reception from the military personnel, had been trained for it, courtesy of Gareth. But it still- struck her, the chilling dismissal of the very capable captain and seneschal who had met with the squad for a round of chilled fruit cups and icy drinks in mid-afternoon. She hadn't bothered with binding her chest though she suspected that it wouldn't have helped even if she did. The men's measuring preliminary gazes dismissed her instantly.

It wasn't a snubbing so much as a complete disregard. She had no value to them, an accessory that was barely recognized. Perhaps contempt would have been better; she could shrug that off fairly easily. But that dispassionate treatment stung her in a manner that was too unsettling.

She sat by an elegantly alabaster fountain and rested her elbows on her knees for a moment, hunching. Her eyes fluttered closed and she took deep breaths, letting thoughts trickle from her mind like water from a tipped cup.

When she opened her eyes, she met the impossibly blue eyes of a girl who was almost directly in front of her.

_Princes are not always golden-haired, I hear. I am not too picky either. Princes have a golden quality to them, a light that surrounds them and makes them… special._

_The light that surrounded this one was silver but just as warm._

Mara blinked once, taking in the angelic-featured girl. She was delicately cherubic, with round cheeks that still looked suitably adorable, instead of chubby. Her hair was bright gold, wrapped in pale blue ribbons with lacy bows, and she was wearing a fluttery and ethereally white dress tied with matching blue ribbons.

The girl was staring at her with great bewilderment. As Mara was about to say something in greeting, the girl flushed and ran away in a flurry of ruffles and white silk slippers. Mara was left very confused, as she blinked absurdly.

_I do not know why I ran away._

_The prince must have thought me terribly rude… I had never seen such a prince, with that short black hair, round face, and strangely shaped black eyes. He was tall but not that tall and he was a bit skinny. But he was strong, I could tell, and the stories say that it is the heart that matters._

Mara wished she had a better hood. Water was dripping onto her, trying to force its way into her bodysuit and leaving unpleasant trails down the back of her neck. Of all times, why did it have to rain while they were leaving?

Fortune was a smug bitch.

Mara shoved her complaints away as quickly as possible. She wasn't so stupid or naïve to think that she could win over these men but damn if she was going to make them think she was a whining little girl. Grimly, she steeled herself for an unpleasant few days camping. She was probably going to have the worst tasks, if she was counted for at all…

Though the squad consisted of specialists, they were under the jurisdiction of the guards and even Nathanial had to answer to the sergeant. Technically, this was a reconnaissance mission, though none of them deceived themselves into thinking it was _only_ a reconnaissance mission. Mara could tell that the business ends of the bows that the guards carried had very painful, very efficient results and they walked with a grimly purposeful air.

To her surprise and intrigue, they had a team sorcerer. Well, _team_ sorcerer was an incorrect term. Simply put, he was a magical tracker. He performed other services, from communication to minor healing, but he specialized in tracking and tracing magic.

The reason for their stalking about in the rain, in a dense forest, was that it was simply too impractical to go about with vehicles in this terrain. The sorcerer, who was also second-in-command, had offered a sardonic smile when giving this explanation. Though it had not been particularly directed at her, Mara dutifully ignored whatever jibe he intended.

"The trail is very weak," he called, pausing by a tree and nimbly climbing up its elevated roots. He cupped his hands around his mouth for a moment, as if trying to warm his fingers, before pressing them against the bark. "But not old." His eyes were dark brown and rather narrow; he had the perpetual expression of a rather smug and slightly underfed fox.

He turned around and pointed east, to the surprise of the sergeant, who said as much.

"That's the strongest of the traces," the sorcerer said patiently. He arched a shaggy brown eyebrow. "Of course, you're very welcome to go in the way that makes sense to you like last year-"

The sergeant muttered a pungent curse under his breath before ordering them eastward. Mara, at the tail-end, tried not to jump when the sorcerer leapt down from his perch to walk beside her.

"Shouldn't you be at the front? Sir," she added respectfully and somewhat hastily.

He gave her a benign smile. "It's growing season for fringed Lyra ferns. With the rain lasting until sundown tonight, I think it's best that I let the others clear a path."

He added, "I will let them know if we have to make another turn. As soon as possible." It was very difficult to tell whether he was joking or not.

_Princesses are always alone. We are locked up into our crystal towers to protect us from the outside world. Though we have every luxury and pleasure in the world, we are ultimately very lonely. Because everything has to come through the crystal. Even love._

"The petals of the fallen," Gregori murmured.

"Are you doing your literature homework out here?" Mara asked incredulously.

They were settled for the night in a cave they were fortunate enough to find. It was used regularly as a rough shelter, meaning it was stocked with basic supplies and firewood. The rain made it impossible to track anything, though normally they should be hunting at night.

Mara wasn't complaining, however. She did volunteer to take the first watch, though she had a nagging suspicion that it would be a double shift.

Gregori flushed at the accusation. "Why not?" he said hotly.

Mara snorted. "I thought you were attempting love poetry."

"There's nothing wrong with love poetry!"

"Except you're hardly a minstrel, Gregori."

The boy looked furious but didn't otherwise react. Mara stared into forest outside, her hair faintly steaming from the almost cloying warmth provided by the fire.

"So that's what they teach up and coming specialists, these days," the sorcerer remarked with amusement.

"You should talk," the sergeant retorted tersely. He was making a last inspection on supplies and on the supply of firewood.

The saturnine man let out a hoarse chuckle and returned to tending to the fire and a series of covered pots. "Get some sleep, sarge. I got first watch."

"I'll never get to sleep then," the commanding officer replied dryly. But he went to the back of the cave where bedrolls had been set up.

"I promise not to botch tomorrow's coffee." It was impossible to tell if the sorcerer was being serious and in response, the sergeant gave his subordinate a long look, to which the sorcerer gave a sunny, innocent smile.

In that turn, Mara called, "Turn in, Gregori. You've spent this long procrastinating on homework as is."

Gregori muttered something probably unflattering before complying. So it was Mara and the team sorcerer seated near the mouth of the cave in semi-darkness. They were warm, however, thanks to their now cloaks and convenient sealed metal containers of hot water.

"You're Mara Frey, no?" the sorcerer asked in conversational tones.

"Yes sir."

"Don't bother with that."

"I am afraid that is a difficult order to follow, sir."

The sorcerer laughed that curious hoarse chuckle of his. Mara was reminded of one of her great-uncles, who had smoked for most of his life. "Ah. I remember this situation when I was younger. Very well. For tonight, call me Marlow."

Having a former English literature professor for a mother piqued Mara's interest. "By any chance, do you know Professor Chaucer of Red Fountain?" she asked, surprising herself.

She sensed his smile or at least his amusement. "Yes." The sorcerer shifted in his seat slightly. "Chaucer is my half brother, many years younger, I'm afraid."

Mara blinked, confused for a moment before realizing the truth to his words. Chaucer only _seemed_ old because of his white hair and harsh demeanor… If one was willing to look past that, it was possible to see that Chaucer was barely older than Gareth.

"How did you know, by and by?" he asked blithely.

"It was a guess."

"A good guess."

"Thank you."

They sat in silence for a while longer. An hour may have passed, maybe two. Marlow surprised her by leaning over to her and offering her a cup of tea. She accepted it gingerly and sniffed at the fragrant steam. It reminded her of licorice.

"Blackstem tea," he said. "Should keep you up for a little longer and help you nod off. The second shift starts in a little while."

"Thank you." She sipped at the tea and winced at the unexpected sour tang it left at the back of her throat.

Marlow was looking out at the forest. The rain was slowly stopping but it was a cloudy night, ensuring that it was nearly pitch black.

"Whatever's out there," he said quietly. "It's waiting for us." His voice sounded dead serious and there was an edge to it that made Mara vaguely nervous. Or that may have been the tea.

_I have no companions. There is only a parade of tutors and nurses and maids. I am told of princes. But how can I find one if I cannot leave these walls?_

Two days had passed and the trail had gone cold. Marlow was frustrated, though he didn't show it. He muttered to himself constantly, bending to examine leaves on the ground and constantly touching his fingers to his lips before touching anything.

"It's like- like it never was here," the sorcerer said, sounding utterly bewildered and disgusted with himself for reaching that point.

"What if we visit Craft?" one of the soldiers called out.

Marlow stiffened instantly. "Not if I can ever help it," he snarled.

"Professional jealousy should have nothing to do with this," the sergeant said sternly, leveling a sharp glance at bristling sorcerer.

"The man's a lunatic," Marlow replied flatly.

"You're one to talk," someone muttered. The sorcerer scowled unpleasantly.

"Craft is one of the few permanently stationed here," the sergeant said after a while. "He should be able to give some sort of information."

Marlow looked less like a fox and more like a cat, with fur on end and tail bristled. As the sergeant barked sharp orders and the team headed south, the sorcerer looked distinctly unhappy and his eyes glittered red for a moment, though Mara was the only one to witness that eerie change. She shuddered unconsciously.

They ended up smelling trouble before seeing it. It was Thorne who reacted first. He gagged suddenly and a few seconds later, Mara choked. It was a nauseatingly sweet smell, mixed with something metallic and scorched; she had a sick hunch as to what it was.

Suddenly, a building, or the remains of one, appeared before them. It had once been a combination of a fantasy wizard's tower and a military compound, a delicate yet impregnable structure of steel and white stone. Not anymore. The gates were wrenched open and the courtyard it opened into was the aftermath of chaos. Thorne retched and ended up vomiting into a nearby patch of shrubs. Mara tried to go to him but he waved her off, trembling.

She relented once she saw him fumble for his canteen, open it, and take a gulp to clean his mouth. By this time, the sergeant barked an order to take out weapons and they all grimly did so, bows and swords now at ready.

They moved into the wreckage and the scent of burnt flesh only grew stronger, along with a strange oily scent that strangled the lungs and thickened the air. Marlow stalked through the main doors himself; the sergeant didn't stop him. He returned in a matter of moments.

"Craft is dead," he said tonelessly. His eyes were definitely red now, and wide open. "He's been dead for a few days."

"What killed him?" The sergeant remained cool.

"I am no expert on anatomy but I suppose getting ripped into shreds and having the bits thrown around a room may have something to do with it," Marlow said acidly. Mara realized with some horror that his boots were stained in blood at least up to the ankles.

Thorne retched again and even some of the guards looked somewhat green. Mara looked over at her squad members. Nathanial looked shaken, as well as Marcus. Gregori looked… frightened.

"Any idea what may have caused that?" The sergeant wasn't going to take any more of Marlow's macabre humor; he looked coolly grim.

Marlow pulled out a book from his pocket and threw it at the sergeant, who caught it in midair with one hand. "Craft's research log," he said tonelessly. "He's been creating chimeras."

Gregori was definitely frightened now. "Chimeras?" he said, voice high. "Those- those have been banned from Lucern for over a hundred years."

Marlow laughed mirthlessly. "Puritanical but necessary. Since we get bastards like Craft." He spat and ground his boots into the grit of the courtyard. "He's probably got to do with whatever beastie's been roaming these woods."

Thorne, complexion gray, said in a very small, very strained voice, "That- beast has been described as a wolf-like creature, no?"

"Yes, why?" the sergeant looked over at Thorne, who had ducked behind some sheds to attempt to be discreet and had come back out quickly.

"I think I found it," came the shaken reply.

As one, they went over to Thorne. No one was undisciplined enough to drop weapons or gape but Mara heard a few whispered, incredulous oaths.

The thing was crumpled up into a mass of black fur and multiple clawed limbs that had no business of being where they were. Wolf-like was a generous term; it was rather like looking at a toddler's scribble in crayon and attempting to make a shape from it. The thing smelled to high heaven. It was soaked in blood, both red and some foul brownish-green liquid that was congealing to a putrid sludge. Marlow shoved his way to the front. Then, with a courage that utterly astounded Mara, he stripped off his gloves, licked his fingers and _touched_ the thing.

"This is it," he announced grimly. He laughed once, a horrid chuckle that made no few people flinch, even slightly. "Craft created a chimera, lost control of it, and got killed for his troubles. The moron couldn't even create something that's able to last longer than a month so it came back here and just dissembled."

"How could this have happened?" Gregori demanded, suddenly. "How could a sorcerer creating illegal chimeras could have-"

"This is a very different world, prince," Marlow said, turning his red eyes to the boy. "Craft was utterly self-sufficient. There was no reason to investigate him any time soon." His words were mocking and bitter. "Your father's influence isn't everywhere."

"Marlow," the sergeant said warningly.

The sorcerer bowed sardonically. "My apologies, your highness."

Gregori's eyes flashed. "Don't think, sorcerer-" he began hotly.

"Gregori!" Nathanial warned sharply. The shorter boy turned, flushed, and was silent.

The sergeant gazed at the dead chimera for a long moment. "We head back," he said finally. "Another team should be sent to clean this up while we make our report." No one disagreed with that plan.

_I waited for a prince for too long. But one came for me at last! He wasn't what I expected nor did he come the way I expected. I thought I would be sitting in a meadow, as a tall, handsome figure came to me and kissed my hand, as he stole my heart…_

The common room of the shared suite was pleasantly cool and dry, being that it was made of rose-colored marble and lined with light wood. But it made Mara feel enclosed and rather warm. Mara sighed as she picked at the collar of her shirt. She should have known that Gregori's sick sense of humor would come to play sooner or later. Three days of trekking in the woods had not been good to their uniforms and though the bodysuits and cloaks were remarkably stain-resistant (being protected magically, after all), the magical nature of the decaying chimeras had countered the weak cleansing spells. This meant that unless they wanted to go around smelling something like a foul combination of burnt grease, blood, decaying organic matter, and coffee that had been left on a counter for months too long, they had to get their clothing cleaned.

Mara, having figured it would be a short mission, had not brought "civilian" clothing. Hence her current ensemble. It was the latest in Magix fashion. For men.

Mara grudgingly admitted that it was good clothing, though vaguely ridiculous on her. It was the billowy shirt. And the leather pants. At least it fitted her, though she had to scrounge up a way too ostentatious belt to keep the pants up. She winced at the buckle, which was gold, in the shape of a stylized sun. Compensation much? In an attempt to offset the tawdry accessory, she had shifted the belt, having the buckle rest on her left hip.

"Why don't you look as ridiculous as me?" she demanded, glaring at Nathanial, who also had to borrow clothing, not having the foresight of Marcus, who by necessity kept a spare set of things on the ship.

Unlike her, he was utterly modern. Silvery gray linen shirt with subdued black embroidery at the hems and well-fitting indigo jeans. He arched a snow white eyebrow at her in perfect innocence.

"And I thought you hated dresses," he replied.

She made a very rude gesture at him, which only made him smile infuriatingly at her. Then she stalked off to the gardens again.

The others were off in their own business. Gregori was likely frantically trying to catch up with his homework; he also probably dragged Marcus into it. Thorne was still taking a bath, not that Mara blamed him at all.

The stench had washed off, though only thanks to a rather strongly scented soap that was almost as offensive as the stench itself (and that was saying something). As it were, Mara now smelled very strongly of a combination of menthol and lemon. She sat by the fountain she had sought out a few days before, settling on the sun-warmed stone as the air started to cool.

Then she stretched out, lying on the flat, broad rim of the fountain and closing her eyes. She opened them instantly as she smelled strawberries and sensed soft breathing. It was the girl from a few days ago. She blinked bemusedly. This time, the girl was in pale blue, but she still drowned in lace.

"Hullo," Mara said, for lack of anything better to say. Her voice was deeper than usual, roughened from drowsiness.

"Who are you?" the girl asked. Her voice was fairly pleasant but too high-pitched for Mara's comfort.

"Ah-" Mara slowly sat up and decided to humor the girl. "Mara Frey, at your service, miss." She even made a little bow.

The girl curtseyed, a deliberate action so dignified Mara had to choke back a laugh. "I am Lynnette, princess apparent of Lucern," she said with extreme dignity.

Mara bowed a bit deeper. "Forgive my lack of manners, princess."

The girl was frowning at her thoughtfully. "I have need of your services," she announced promptly.

Mara blinked a little at the imperiousness but decided to humor her once more. "What will you have me do?"

_My prince was more patient than I dreamed. But he wasn't of royal blood, somehow I knew. He was a knight and I was willing to live with that. For knights are just as brave as princes after all, right?_

Some time later, Mara came back, just in time to eat supper. "Where were you?" Nathanial asked, in the middle of playing a computer game.

She went over to a pitcher of tepid, sweetened tea and poured herself a tall glass. After taking a long sip, she said, with complete and utter bemusement, "Entertaining the princess."

Nathanial stared. "What?"

"Princess Lynette of Lucern. I somehow found myself stripping thorns from roses and picking apples." Mara took another long drink. "Bossy little chit." However, she had no rancor in her voice because though it was a little odd, it was far from irritating.

"Mara… there isn't a princess of Lucern," Nathanial said slowly, giving her an expression of extreme confusion.

She paused. "But I swear…" She stopped herself in mid-sentence. "You know more about genealogy than I do. But who would she be?"

Nathanial shrugged. Whatever he was about to say was interrupted as Marcus ran into the room, a frantic Thorne at his heels. The ensuing row that occurred drove all thoughts of the would-be princess from Mara's mind.

…

"What?" Four pairs of eyes stared incredulously at Marcus.

The short pilot looked rather irritated with them. "Sun spots," he repeated. "Look, I did the calculations five times already! So you can stop staring at me like that."

"Don't we have the technology to predict these sorts of things?" Nathanial said incredulously.

"The nature of sun spots makes it only possible to predict them with a success rate of 98," Marcus replied flatly. "We can't get back to Red Fountain for another two to four days."

"Communications are down too?" Mara asked carefully.

Marcus shook his head. "In fact, I got a message from home base warning about sun spots just last night. That's how I found out. I've also already taken the liberty of sending a brief message that our system's been affected."

"Hmm." Nathanial wasn't too pleased about this brief insubordination. "I'll send a formal message then. By the way, next time let me know about this."

"Sure." Marcus turned his back to the squad leader to type away at something on his computer.

Mara arched her eyebrows. Marcus was having his rare moments of mulishness. But that was an affair left between him and Nathanial. She was washing her hands of the business while she could. So she turned to other things.

"So you'll finally finish your coursework, won't you, Gregori?" Mara couldn't resist as she exited.

He made a face at her.

_My knight was there the second time, of which I was glad. For a moment I thought he was a cruel dream. Yes, dreams are cruel, because they fade away and leave you with nothing more than air and a frantically reaching hand…_

This time around, Mara was enlisted into making daisy chains. Or at least, flowers that resembled daisies. She had forgotten what they were called. Fortunately, it wasn't that difficult to slit the stems and string them into swiftly growing chains.

Though it was a bit rude and nosy of her, she had taken the liberty of looking through the royal genealogies. Gregori was an only child and had no cousins or other relations the proper age who could claim royal status.

The girl in question was braiding said daisy chains.

"My lady," Mara finally said. "I must confess… I did not realize that Lucern had a princess."

The girl froze and leveled a curious expression. It was a mixture of irritation, no, fury, and something like pain. "I _am_ a princess," she said, her voice holding nothing of childish pique, but a hard assertion that actually made Mara rather taken aback.

The girl instantly got up and went off without another word, leaving Mara sitting in confused silence.

_I've been taught that being a princess is not always easy. If towers and glass mountains were not enough, there are some who would challenge us. But we have to fight, fight with every bit of being to be worthy of our tiaras. Because what else do we have left in the world?_

Mara decided that the only way she would get any straight answers was out of Gregori.

She cornered him before dinner, yanking him into her bedroom for privacy. "Gregori, do you have a sister?" she asked without preamble.

He stared at her, doing a credible imitation of a goldfish. "What?"

"A sister. Or any relative who can even remotely considered a princess."

"That's-"

"Probably state secrets?" she fixed him with a gimlet glare.

He squirmed uncomfortably and finally said, softly, "Yes, I have a younger sister."

"She's not on any records. Why?"

"I can't see why this is any of your business!"

"Considering I've been entertaining a girl for the last few days who claims to be princess, I think I would like to know why there's a discrepancy here. I'm supposing Marcus doesn't know about her either."

"He knows," Gregori replied. "He's known for a while…"

"Huh. Probably because you're related."

"Yes," he snapped. "You're being a right nosy b-"

She stopped him with a glare. "Yes, I'm nosy. But it's not stopping you from answering my questions, now is it?"

"I don't have to take this anymore!" Gregori wrenched himself from her and stormed off in a huff, leaving Mara with more questions than answers.

…

Marcus was the most likely to have answers, to say nothing of the fact that he was easier to talk to; she caught him after dinner in his room. He looked up as she entered with a tea service, complete with his favorite almond biscuits.

"Mara, you didn't have to," he protested. He had been rewiring some data disks though he wasn't too occupied. She could tell from the fact that his blonde curls weren't on end (from constantly having fingers combing through them).

"Nonsense," she said. "Besides, I have to ask you something."

She didn't quite tell him what she was up to until they were settled with cups of his tea (his with two lumps of white crystal sugar and a generous dash of cream, hers with a splash of cream and one lump). He reached for a cookie and started crumbling it apart as he listened.

"Gregori does have a younger sister," he said finally. "She's not recorded because well… she's illegitimate." He flushed a little.

"I should have known," Mara murmured.

"Lucern tends to brush illegitimate children under the covers," Marcus explained, looking rather embarrassed. "Even though she was born a year after Gregori's mother died."

"She doesn't seem to be lacking for anything, on the other hand," Mara observed, remembering the girl's lacy, elaborate dresses.

Marcus had an uncharacteristically ironic smile lingering on his cherubic face. "She's still with some royal blood, after all. My uncle had her raised in one of the other palaces for a while. To be honest, I didn't know she was here."

"Why is Gregori so touchy about the subject? I mean… I have some suspicions but…"

Marcus frowned a little. "Well, I can't tell you exactly. All I know is that he used to like her; they met a couple of times at the very least. Now they hardly see each other and he doesn't talk about her much."

"Thanks Marcus."

"Mara?"

She paused. He looked at her seriously.

"Be careful. You may end up getting into something you didn't intend on getting into."

"I'm always careful." She smiled at him but it didn't seem to assuage his worry.

_My dark-eyed knight… Please don't leave me because I'm not worthy of my crown. Don't leave me to be alone and friendless in the world!_

Though she would have been verbally flayed by Gareth, Mara decided to have a practice bout with Marcus the next morning. To be honest, it was partially his idea anyways, to work on his endurance and reaction speeds.

The two of them commandeered part of the courtyard early in the morning, choosing to use pattern dances instead of improvisation. And to further prevent as much damage as possible, they promised to go at half speed.

Marcus had been getting better with his glaive; it suited his short stature rather well as he used it like an extension of his arm. Mara was a little more stilted with her dual weapons but that was a weakness of the mode that she couldn't really control.

They circled each other and soon the courtyard filled with the echoes and crackling of weapons meeting. It was tricky trying to get after Marcus, Mara realized. The only reason why she was even making some progress was his poor reaction speed, which was why he took the offensive quite often despite it being at odds with his shy and mild demeanor.

"You need to force his blade down."

The two of them froze, still locked in position. Two sets of eyes flickered to the sidelines, where Marlow was standing. He was dressed in a plain suit of dark brown, his gray-streaked hair wild around his face. One hand held an unlit pipe. And curiously, he had a rapier at his belt. A metal one.

He grinned at them lazily. "I don't just putter around a lab or weave spells. I know how to fight too."

Mara blinked, caught off guard. She'd been told that sorcerers (or in some cases, wizards) typically did not pursue martial arts, because the higher the magic usage, the more discipline and study was required. Unless they chose to become Paladins, which weren't quite sorcerers either, as she had learned in her history classes. In the mean time, Marlow had swaggered over to the two fighters, his boot heels clicking on the ground. He clucked a little bit and gesticulated with his long pipe.

"Get him at the tip," he told Mara. "Force the blade down so he can't use it."

"What about the butt of the shaft?" Mara asked.

"Glaives are too short. Besides, you'd be ready to get him after forcing the blade down."

They tried the move, only to falter, and Marlow scolded them both, forcing them to go through the routine over and over again until Mara had mastered it, successfully trapping the slender blade of Marcus's polearm and attacking with her free hand. Then it was Marcus's turn to get some hints on how to better utilize his weapon against two-handed fighters.

Marlow was a harsh taskmaster as well as a competent one. He was wicked with the metal rapier at his hip, having no compunctions about whipping them with the flat of the blade to teach them about the holes in their defense. By the end of the impromptu session, Marcus and Mara were drenched in sweat and panting. Marlow didn't look particularly ruffled as he sheathed his rapier in one smooth move before lighting his pipe with a snap of his fingers. Even as he puffed away, he took a drink from a flask at his belt.

"You two aren't bad," he drawled as Marcus examined Mara's fingers for damage. The digits were bruised and swollen but not terribly hurt.

"Where'd you learn this?" Mara couldn't help but ask.

"My secret." He winked infuriatingly at her. "Now, you two, get to the showers. You both stink to high heaven."

Fair words from a man smoking a pipe that smelled like burning rubber, Mara thought ungraciously as she helped Marcus limp away from the grounds.

…

The bathing chamber was a hazy world of white, blue, gold, and silver tiles and steam. It smelled pleasantly of oranges and lemons, mint and honey. Most importantly, it was _empty_. Mara dismissed the attendants, preferring to bathe alone. She pampered herself on impulse, lathering on the many salts and soaps. All pleasant to her nostrils because they were the clean, soothing scents of herbs or citrus she preferred over heavy and feminine floral perfumes.

Finally, she soaked happily away in positively enormous bathing pool filled with an astringent green liquid that smelled rather like jasmine tea. So what if she was going to smell like the interior of a teapot later? She stared up at the domed ceiling, looking appreciatively at the panels of glass that allowed glimpses of a positively blue sky that alternated with fantastic mosaics of dark blue and gold tiles. The dome itself was supported by colorful gilded statues of sinuous fish with eyes of polished turquoise and glass.

She got up after she felt like she was now starting to marinate, an admittedly disconcerting, though whimsical thought. Stretching, she yawned, wringing out bits of her hair. She heard a sharp gasp from behind her and turned around, blinking. Only to find the supposed princess that had been occupying her thoughts of late.

_I wasn't typically allowed in the castle's bathing chambers. I had my own bathing room in my rooms. But sometimes I was allowed to slip into the Celadon Pool in the earliest hours, when the noble ladies were not around to see me. The attendants would watch me, so I was out from under the overbearing gaze of my nurse._

_But when I came to the Pool… I saw a most startling sight. My knight. And… she was female._

The girl was in a ruffled linen shift that only made her seem that much more angelic. Her expression was that of complete surprise and then of growing horror.

"Who are you?" she demanded with the imperiousness of a royal, that much impressive in an eight-year-old girl.

"Mara Frey, princess." Mara thought she should get out but thought better of it upon spying her towel settled on a chair just out of reach. She wasn't that body-shy but she figured that continuing to expose herself wasn't the best ideas in the presence of a possibly traumatized little girl. Prudently, she ducked a little bit into the water to hide her uncovered front from the girl.

"You- you-" she was about to scream and Mara tried to think of a way to distract her.

"You lied to me." The pronouncement actually made Mara freeze and she saw the familiar, troubling signs of shuddering shoulders.

"Technically, I didn't," she tried to point out mildly. "You just thought I was a male, if you don't mind me saying so."

The girl glared at her and Mara winced. "You did not inform me of your identity," the princess said angrily. "You reveled in my ignorance…"

"Hardly," Mara said dryly, just a little irritated in her turn, and cutting off the little girl far too easily. "You jumped to conclusions and didn't bother to ask."

The girl could only glare, unable to find a logical answer to that. Mara sighed. "I'll get out. I'm sorry for whatever trouble I've caused you." She should have been more formal but she was still irritated with the kid. And this was a kid, like her cousins, who she had to babysit more than once.

"No, no…" The girl actually looked… embarrassed? "I was churlish. I apologize." She actually curtseyed.

Now Mara was rather flustered. "This is your home, after all," she replied. "I will leave if you wish." But it was a lost battle as she watched the girl gently step into the water, still in the ruffled shift. Now Mara felt a little exposed and had a sudden regret that she hadn't worn her towel in the pool.

The girl sat nearby and fixed blue eyes intently onto Mara. "You go to Red Fountain?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. I am a first year student."

"Why?"

Mara blinked. "Well… I didn't care for Althea particularly. So I applied for Red Fountain and they let me attend for a probation period, which I passed." Being blunt was probably the best course of action at this rate, she thought wryly.

"You are a princess then?"

"Hardly. It turns out that I have magic. I'm from Earth, you realize," she added.

"Earth?" The girl's eyes widened. "Isn't that a- a-"

"A magically dead, rustic planet? From Magix's perspective, yes."

"So you got to go to Red Fountain… but don't you want to be a fairy?"

"No." Mara attempted to add some humor, saying, "I don't look that great in a dress and wings."

"But it's your heritage still, isn't it?"

"I am not a princess," Mara said, surprising herself with the gentleness in her tone. "I just had magic. Enough to get noticed."

"So you've never transformed?"

"Not once."

The girl looked rather melancholy. "My tutor said I should transform soon. My… mother did when she was my age."

"I- I am very sorry. I'm sure you'll turn in time." Mara suddenly felt very awkward again.

"Maybe, maybe not." The girl looked rather frightened, hugging her knees to her chest. "I- I don't think I will. Because my mother wasn't Queen. Because I'm- I'm not a real princess."

"Don't say that," Mara said softly, reaching out to touch at the girl's shoulder.

Then she was startled as the girl launched herself at her, sobbing. She couldn't do much past stroke the damp gold curls, attempting to soothe her. After the initial crying had subsided, the princess whispered, "Mara… could you take me to Red Fountain? If I am not a fairy?"

"No." Suddenly Mara felt very old and altogether too worldly as she surprised herself with her own answer.

"Why?" Blue eyes stared incredulously.

Mara smoothed back the girl's gold hair carefully, losing her self-consciousness for a moment. "Because it's a choice you have to make even if you have a fairy form, princess. Red Fountain isn't a fall back choice. It never was for me. And it shouldn't be for you."

_I once had a dream._

_I was in a meadow of sunlight and starflowers. A delicate breeze caressed my skin and the sun kissed it. The air was sweet and warm. And there, I played, running through the lush grasses beneath my feet._

_Upon the edge of the meadow there was a knight. But as he drew nearer, I realized he was no knight but a tall, glorious lady clad in white and silver. I could not see her face for the sun was too bright and my eyes would not focus._

_She drew near and she gathered me in her arms. I sank into her embrace for it was the embrace of a mother I had not known for my entire life. Then she drew a sword, terrible and gleaming, curved like the edge of a dying moon. She swung it all around us and the meadow crumbled. My dream shattered all around me._

_And I woke screaming._

_But now I remember that when the world around us shattered like a thousand pieces of glass, I was flying like an angel past a thousand stars on silver wings. And I was happy._

Mara stood on the battlements, lost in thought. Her still damp hair was cold against her scalp.

"My sister doesn't like me." Mara turned around in time to see Gregori standing behind her, barely stopping herself from jumping. The boy walked like an assassin.

He looked very tired and a little guilty. Mara arched her eyebrows at him.

"Oh?" she prompted.

"She doesn't like me at all," he snapped at her.

"And why?"

Gregori leaned against a nearby wall. "My mother died some time ago. Not long after she died, my father had my half-sister with an unattached lady, and she died in childbirth…"

So much for better medical technology but Mara quashed that rather unnecessary thought, letting him talk.

"My little sister and I were raised partially together. I remember being told to protect her, because I was her older brother. And it wasn't too hard. We got along well enough. Then… I started going to court functions and I started hearing rumors about my sister."

"That she was illegitimate." Mara kept judgment from her tone.

He nodded, looking shameful. "I let it all go to my head. Until I finally told her that I never wanted to be with her. Because she was a bastard child."

"Which hurt her quite a bit."

He winced as though she had hit him, though her voice remained neutral.

"The next day, she was at the summer castle. And I was wrapped up in my tutors. I didn't realize what I'd done for a few months. When I did… it was too late."

"You couldn't talk to her?"

"I could. If I really wanted to." He swallowed hard. "And I tried to apologize. But she refused to see me ever again."

Mara thought about what an apology was according to most Red Fountain students and tried not to wince. "You tried?" she asked, trying to be delicate but failing.

"Yeah."

"Try again. It won't hurt."

He looked at her, startled. "What?"

"You can't say sorry too many times," Mara said, trying to keep her patience with him. Despite the sympathy she felt upon learning a bit more of the situation, she couldn't help but be profoundly irritated with him. Not that giving him a tongue-lashing would help the situation at hand (much).

"She won't look at me!" exclaimed Gregori, frustrated. "How can I say that?"

Mara then stared at him. As he grew more uncomfortable with each second of silence, she finally cut him off by saying at last, "Gregori, are you really sorry?"

"What kind of a question is that? Of course-"

She ruthlessly and immediately cut him off at the metaphorical knees. "Guilt doesn't count, Gregori. Do you realize what you did is wrong? Do you genuinely want to say sorry?"

"I-I…" Gregori's mouth worked but no other sound would come out.

"Apologies are all good and well but they have to be sincere." With that, Mara left him, because she thought it best he mulled over this.

_I had it with being helpless. I had it with being alone. I had to leave. I had to get out. I was going to leave and no one was going to stop me any longer._

Mara expected to find the girl at the gardens again that afternoon, only to find the area by the fountain empty. Normally she wouldn't have been worried but there was a very vague nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Acting on it, she absently visited the sectors that would have most likely had a princess, even if she was kept in seclusion. As she walked along a particular avenue, she almost jumped high enough to hit the ceiling as she heard a shriek. Her first instinct was to run but as she saw guards storming in from the opposite direction, she hit the wall before stalking after them. She wasn't nearly as good about being silent as Gregori or Gareth, but she wasn't horrible, to say nothing of the fact that the guards were rather distracted.

From behind a column, she overheard a hysterical conversation with a maid and said guards.

"What happened?"

"Milady, she's- she's gone!"

"Have you checked everywhere?"

"Yes, yes! She's nowhere to be seen!"

"Get a hold of yourself, woman! Have you looked for her everywhere in these rooms?"

"Yes, I've looked everywhere she could be! She's missing!"

Mara's brow furrowed as the head of the guards ordered his men to spread out to search the entire palace complex. Then she turned on her heel and ran back to her team's quarters to grab Marcus.

…

"You want me to do what?" Marcus blinked at her in complete surprise.

"Run a search on her. She might be playing a very bad prank but something tells me she's not."

"I don't have anything to run a search on! I barely got online and straining too much-"

"Help me run a search spell then!" Mara growled. "We're in the same magic class, come on!"

"We need something of hers then."

"Gregori," Mara spoke in a flash of inspiration.

"What?"

"Gregori. He's her half-brother!"

Mara ran out of the computer room. Fortunately, Gregori was slouched on the couch playing a video game. She reached over to snatch at his hair without thinking when he grabbed her wrist.

"What are you doing?" He looked up at her in irritation.

"I need your hair. Your sister's gone missing."

He stared at her. "You've got to be kidding me."

Mara was so exasperated with him that she had no patience. "Give me the damn hair or I'll slice all of it off!" she snarled.

He actually backed up a pace. She took advantage to grab a few strands and yank. He yelped loudly but she was gone by the time he reached out to slap her hand.

She ran back to the room, unknowing that he had followed her. She slammed the strands down onto the table before Marcus. The finding spell was one of the more advanced spells but she knew that Marcus was more than capable of it. His control was much finer than hers by this point.

He looked at her and nodded as he pulled out a piece of chalk from his pocket. Methodically he drew two concentric circles around the hairs and filled in the spaces between with the appropriate glyphs for a searching spell. She spread her left hand and placed it against the table, her fingers almost brushing against the boundaries. Marcus mirrored her.

"Wind free, hence thee," she murmured under her breath. The chalk lines glowed furiously and in a flash of light, a dancing and wispy blue flame hovered in midst of the circle.

"Find a girl of this blood," Marcus said steadily, his voice holding a peculiar echo. The flame devoured the hairs, dancing in midair as it turned to brilliant saffron and vanished.

Mara let out a breath she hadn't realized that she had been holding. The spell had dragged out more from her than expected and she staggered, leaning against the table for support. Marcus looked rather drained himself and was reaching for a pitcher of iced sweet tea. Without any semblance of decorum, he gulped down the cloying liquid from the enormous pottery vessel itself. Mara reached wearily for it as well once he was done.

"What are you two doing?" Gregori's incredulous voice came from the doorway.

"Looking for your sister," Mara snapped, wiping her chin with the back of her hand as she set down the pitcher of tea. "She's missing."

He paled instantly and Marcus put his hand on Mara's wrist hesitantly.

"We'll find her," Marcus said as encouragingly as he could. Just then, the wind sprite that they used for their searching spell returned to the chalk circle, glowing brilliant saffron. It flickered frantically and showed a single image, of a little door against rose-colored sandstone. Purpose fulfilled, the spirit dispelled itself and vanished, leaving a scorched mark on the table and the acrid smell of burning rosemary.

"Where is that?" Mara wondered, scowling.

By this time, Gregori was as pale as new milk. "Shit!" He ran from the room. Mara and Marcus followed, only to find Gregori skidding from his room and buckling on his weapons.

"Gregori, where is she?" Mara demanded, yanking on his shoulder before he skidded out the door.

He almost punched her, staring at her with wild eyes. "She went out the old escape hatch!" he blurted almost incoherently. "It hasn't been fixed in years!"

He ripped his shoulder from her grip and ran out. Mara swore with several choice words and went to get her own weapons. Once she got out, she realized that Marcus was following but she didn't say a word, only running after Gregori as fast as possible. He was heading, not deeper into the castle complex, but outside, to the gardens. Leaping over bushes and rare shrubs, he headed to the wilder parts, where thick trees that resembled cypresses grew in clumps. Mara wasn't as short as he was and had to fight through several of the rougher spots. After fighting through prickly needles and branches, they finally hit one of the outer walls of the palace.

Mara remembered vaguely that in centuries past, the original castle had been built from sandstone that was only available in one quarry in the entire palace. As the royals grew in power and prestige, extensions had to be made but by then, the sandstone had run out and was also deemed too plain for an up and coming royal family. Thus the royal palace was a mixture of sandstone and shining white alabaster and marble... Despite this knowledge, Mara could feel the age of the place and it made her breath catch in her throat. The presence was stifling, uncomfortably so.

Gregori was scratching around the wall with his knife, sending chips of sandstone flying. Finally, he stood back in triumph, revealing a crude door.

"I'm going in, send for help," he said without even looking at Mara and Marcus.

"No way," Mara snapped.

"You don't know the place, I do," Gregori snarled. "Go get the Guards."

"I'm going with you, you idiot," Mara snapped back, her temper fraying. She looked at Marcus. "You're going back. Find Marlow and the guards."

Marcus looked ready to protest but she gave him a gimlet glare and he swallowed whatever he would have said. Turning, he ran back through the cypress walls and back to the palace.

Gregori was glaring at her. She fixed him with an evil eye of her own. "Don't even think about slipping away," she warned. "You need backup and you know it. More we fight, more trouble your sister will be in."

Gregori snarled something unflattering before taking out a curious gold ring from his pocket. It was a heavy and battered signet ring set with a flat gold stone. He pressed the stone against what Mara had thought was just a few discolorations of the sandstone and the door slid open with a rumbling groan, revealing a dark passage.

"How did your sister get in here?"

Gregori flushed an angry red. "Anyone with at least half the blood of the royal family can get in. The ring just makes things easier. Come on."

Mara stopped him from marching off as she dragged over a good sized rock and several branches to brace the door from sliding closed. He paced restlessly, glaring at her.

"Marcus is going to need to get back in," she pointed out to him as levelly as she could.

Flushing angrily, he stalked into the passage. Mara paused before the doorway before pulling out the slim magical torch that was fortunately fixed to her sword belt. The light wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. She waved the small beam of light around the passage. The walls were faintly damp and dusty and the entire place smelled of mildew and dust.

She paused for a minute, seeing small scuffs in the dust underfoot. "She was here not too long ago," she remarked aloud, though Gregori didn't acknowledge her comment.

He was using fire spell that hovered in his left hand and cast a pale blue radiance for about two yards around him. She stayed close enough to him that she finally put away her torch, securing it to her belt. They both walked in silence for a while.

"She couldn't have gone that far," Mara finally said. She checked her watch. Almost an hour had passed.

"You'd be surprised," Gregori replied grimly. He bent down quickly, picking up a pale ribbon from the ground.

Mara stopped for a minute. "I- hear water," she said softly.

"There's a reason why we don't use these anymore," he responded harshly. "This goes under a river. They didn't build the passage that well and water eventually started seeping in." Mara paused and placed a hand against a wall, concentrating as well as she could.

Maddeningly, she had no spells that worked in earth and stone. And her intuition was silent. An icy feeling ran down Mara's spine and she followed after Gregori. Finally they came to a fork in the path. He glanced at both and frowned.

"Have a tracking spell?" he asked brusquely.

"Not a good one," Mara replied reluctantly.

"Dammit." He gazed at both tunnels intently before finally choosing the right hand one.

"Please tell me you had a method for choosing this one," Mara couldn't help but quipping.

"I flipped a mental coin," came a sarcastic response.

The sounds of water rushing by echoed throughout the passage and it was a disquieting sensation for there was no hint of it at all, even in the air. Gregori was now walking in what was dubbed "the assassin's slink," an almost comical, exaggerated stride that was painstakingly careful. However stupid it looked, it was meant for walking in treacherous terrain, to avoid the floor giving out or the walls crashing in. Mara wasn't nearly as good but she was careful to walk where only Gregori did.

"The river's broken in," Gregori commented quietly. A frown line was etched into his forehead. "The damage has gotten worse than I thought-"

They eventually had come out into an enormous chamber. The path was now nothing more than a dangerously narrow ledge above a teaming river. Far above them, cracks in the ceiling let in natural light.

Gregori's eyes searched the chamber and his eyes widened as he fixed several hundred yards ahead. A series of stalagmites, cut off and polished bluntly, formed a bridge ahead. A dangerously slippery bridge above a dangerous river. Struggling across that bridge was a figure dressed in white with golden hair that glittered even in the dim light.

Mara tried to grab Gregori before he did something stupid. But he slipped from her grip, heading along the ledge precariously to the bridge. Fortunately for them, the girl saw them just in time. She was dressed in fairly simple dress, even if it was impractical white, and had a makeshift pack slung over her shoulder.

"Lynette, what are you doing?" Gregori yelled above the roar of the water below them.

"Heading away," she yelled back. "They don't want me here. I'm going off on my own!"

"Don't be stupid!" Gregori shouted angrily. "Don't you know how dangerous this is?"

"Like you care!" she yelled just as furiously. "I'm just your- your- I'm not even your sister!" Even from the distance, Mara could tell that those blue eyes were filling with tears.

"Just get back here! You don't know what you're doing!"

"No! Leave me alone!" she shrieked. Furiously, she turned away, about to hop onto the next stone step of the bridge. Unfortunately, she miscalculated her steps and slipped. It was a horrible moment in which she grabbed out frantically, trying to catch onto something, anything, but failed. Her fingers still twitched as they just missed the stone steps and she fell into the teaming waters below.

"Lynette!" Gregori screamed. Without thinking, he dove directly into the river. He disappeared quickly but soon surfaced, taking frantic strokes to reach his sister.

By this time Mara was grabbing the line of thin but strong cord that she kept on her weapons belt. She hunted around for a weight but couldn't find one. Except for her torch. Quickly, she wrapped the cord around the torch in a complicated series of knots, tested it for strength, and ran along the ledge, following after the duo.

By this time, Gregori had reached his sister and was grabbing hold of her, trying to get enough bearings to grab onto a rock or onto the ledges on the sides of the river. But he was going to tire and having an extra person as a burden wasn't helping. Mara ran as quickly as she could, soon matching their pace.

"Grab on!" she yelled to them both, whirling the cord and taking aim.

The torch went flying into the water, landing next to Gregori. He frantically reached for it, soon finding the weighted end. Wrapping the cord around his wrist several times, he started fighting to get to the sides of the river. By this time, Mara had found a rock she could use to stabilize the cord and pull them up. This was taking every bit of strength she had even as she tried not to worry about the strength of the cord. Her fingers were cut and bleeding by the time Marlowe and Marcus burst in, followed by a whole squad of palace guards.

The sorcerer didn't bother with theatrics but she admitted that he was rather showy as he made a few gestures, muttering under his breath. As he raised his arms, the water of the river rose in a huge spout, bearing Gregori and his sister, and deposited the prince and princess onto the ledge.

Both were covered in cloaks instantly and examined for injuries. Neither one of them were terribly injured, though Gregori was a little bruised and had welts from where he had wrapped the cord around his fingers and wrist. When one of the guards tried to pick up the princess, she refused to go with him, clinging to her older brother and screaming hysterically when any movement was made toward her. Mara discreetly wound up her cord and pocketed her torch; fortunately both were spelled against water damage. Marcus, after checking on his cousins, realized that her fingers were bleeding and pulled out a handkerchief to bandage her hand. He blushed after she thanked him and tied the white cloth for her.

Once everything was settled, they headed back to the palace, Lynette cradled in Gregori's arms. No one dared to protest.

_I was so furious with my brother. I couldn't think, couldn't see. That was why I slipped. Falling was a terrifying few seconds until my world filled with nothing but rushing water. I thought I was going to die as I flailed frantically. Drowning isn't peaceful, isn't pretty. You flail and kick and try to scream but the water keeps coming, keeps grabbing, keeps dragging you down… Until someone took hold of me and brought me back to the surface._

_That whole time, my brother kept telling me that he would never let go of me. And he didn't, not for a single moment._

Mara was sipping tea in a chair while watching a few fantastically tailed birds bathed in tiny fountain nearby. Her fingers were properly bandaged and it made holding a pen a little more difficult but she managed. She was finishing her literature homework; after all her jibes at Gregori, she herself hadn't finished all of her work.

She let herself recall the hysterics that ensued once they had reached the palace with two dripping royals in tow. The nurse nearly had an apoplexy and in return Lynette had thrown a monumental temper tantrum that involved quite a few tears and heart-wrenching sobs. Finally a not particularly amused Mara had to give Lynette a good shake and take her herself to the baths, where she proceeded to give the girl a good scrubbing.

Gregori was dragged off by Marcus presumably to take a bath of his own. Both siblings finally got to meet each other once Mara had scrubbed the much younger girl clean and got her dressed into new clothes. Like a scene out of a bad family drama, they ran to each other and wouldn't be separated. Dutifully, she left them to it and made her formal report to the Captain of the Guard. He had scowled at her but had treated her with grudging respect. Before she left, she had said, respectfully, "I will not tell anyone what I have seen, sir."

He waved her off. "Haven't you been taught discretion at Red Fountain?" he had growled. And that was the closest to acknowledgement that she was going to get from him.

While she stacked her papers together, she said, "You may as well say 'hello' if you're going to stare at me."

There was an embarrassed cough. "I was not here long," Lynette's voice said rather meekly.

Mara turned around and faced the girl, who was dressed in a surprisingly simple dress, something more like a tunic, with leggings. Her gold hair was tied back with a plain ribbon. The older girl raised an eyebrow.

Gregori's little sister twisted the hem of her tunic. "My- brother says that you helped a lot," she said. "In finding me. Thank you."

Mara shook her head. "It was nothing. I wasn't the one who dove in to get you though."

She blushed. "It was really, really brave of him," she said rather dreamily.

Mara considered the other girl. Finally, she said, gently, "I shouldn't be the one saying this... But your brother loves you. He's always loved you. You're his little sis and he'll always protect you. He never once hated you- sometimes we say stupid things, even to the people we love. But we have to forgive each other for that."

"I know." Lynette had a curiously serene expression on her face. "I love him too. So I'm going to grow strong enough to protect him someday. As his Champion. I- I did some reading." She blushed. "I really want to- learn how to fight. I want to be strong. So I can protect him too."

"Come here." As the younger girl drew closer, Mara gently grasped her hands. "It doesn't matter whether you go to Red Fountain or not. Just do what _you_ want to do, what _you_ think is right for you."

"Thank you, Mara." Lynette finally smiled and her entire face was a lovely sight. Mara couldn't help but smile back.

"If you need a tutor, let me know. Or just use your brother as a punching bag." Lynette started giggling and Mara chuckled with her.

…

The sun spots faded and soon they were clear for takeoff. While the ship was being checked for any glitches, Mara was waiting in the courtyard.

"Hey."

She nearly jumped several feet in the air as Marlow quite literally appeared in front of her nose. "B-" She bit off the profanity before she had a chance.

He grinned at her wickedly. "Frey."

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Just a talk. You ever think about doing mercenary work?"

"What?" she stared at him incredulously.

"I'm serious. Ever thought about being a hiresword? Or even a sorcerer?" He winked mischievously at her.

"I'm not even through with one year," she snapped.

"And you're too damn noble to do my kind of work. Pity. You'd make a good sorceress. Probably pass me."

She made a face at him. "What's the meaning of this?"

"I don't like potential going to waste." He was smoking in front of her and his pipe smelled fouler than ever.

She waved off the stench. "Thanks."

"If you change your mind, let me know." His smile was quick, cryptic, and rather foul; his teeth were yellowing. "By the way… if you can give this to my little brother?" He produced an envelope from the insides of his brown robes.

She took it gingerly. "And this is?"

"Just a letter. Since you're in the business of reuniting wayward sibs and all." He grinned at her widely. "Ta, sweets." She felt an all too inappropriate tap on her rear and before she could deal out a kick, he was gone. Fuming, she headed to the ship, clenching the envelope in her hand.

As they stared takeoff, Mara looked out the window and on top of the highest tower was a little figure in blue with gold hair, waving at them. She gave the figure a formal salute and smiled.

_It was only after Miss- no, just Mara-left us that I realized the face of the woman in my dream. It wasn't Mara's face. It was my face. Mara didn't break apart my world; I did. She didn't make that choice for me._

_Yet I know that day, when I first saw her in the courtyard, that she was someone special. Someone very, very special._

_Almost as special as my Prince big brother._

…

Gratuitous Author Babble:

Mara and Nathanial are on break. They said something about bungy-jumping in the mountains somewhere… So they leave me typing away while avoiding my student responsibilities.

Yay for dysfunctional families! Nah, I wouldn't say Gregori's family is that dysfunctional, just more indicative of a royal family than most. His dad isn't worse than Marcus's, just a rather distant parent and more strict about making appearances. Anything goes, as long as it's swept under the carpet. Nice role model, huh? Lucern is also based vaguely off Spain, in terms of the elaborate bathing chambers, white and red architecture, and somewhat puritanical socio-political hierarchy.

I have to say, I _liked_ writing Marlow. He's vaguely based off some of my ne'er-do-well roleplay characters and Fuji from Prince of Tennis. He'll probably make a few more appearances, especially because he's taking an interest to Mara. No, not in that way. He's an experienced mercenary eyeing someone who has interesting potential and to be honest, I wouldn't mind developing more characters who don't fit the Red Fountain model of specialists, which are knights/paladins. Quite frankly a magical kingdom system requires mercenaries, especially those on the "disreputable side" if only because hiring people who have to survive on their own adds an extra edge to military strength and intelligence.

Another addressing of comparisons between USW and Tamora Pierce… I can see that there are parallels still and I find that understandable, though I have always intended on _avoiding_ parallels with Pierce's novels. Personally, I find "The Protector of the Small" quartet the weakest of all of Pierce's current works (Though some of the "Circle Opens" quartet are definitely close runner-ups), with Kel a reasonably developed but ultimately flat character considering Pierce's previous female characters (speaking of which, I'm not terribly fond of her current portrayal of an older Alanna, which has led me to stop reading her books). Author bias leads me to favor Mara, who's _not_ an angrier, more cynical, _sans_-animal companions Kel and was never intended to be Kel in any way, shape or form. As I'll say freely, Mara is a stubborn goat and that's just about the basis for her attending Red Fountain, which goes to show you just how far bull-headed stubbornness can take you.

I would like to also announce that I intend to start a very extensive re-writing of this entire fiction. The editing process may take up to a year, depending if I can find a competent reader to help me clean up the inconsistencies and flaws. The new rewrite will include more detail about Mara's last day with her family (and fix the genetic anomalies of her brothers' hair and eye colors) and adjustments to characters to make them more consistent and developed. And hopefully I will be able to keep a sense of time passing a lot better!

Oh, also, readers, feel free to go to the new USW forum that I just set up! I'll be able to send you more personalized replies to your questions, reviews, critiques, etc. and you can all feel free to discuss favorite characters and whatnot. /winks/


	21. Chapter 20: A Restless Interlude

* * *

Chapter Twenty: A Restless Interlude

* * *

She was dreaming again.

_There was nothing but magic. Specifically, it was rose colored magic, rose and gold. The "air" was pleasantly warm and smelled of something incredibly sweet._

"_Let me out," echoed a soft, pleading voice._

_She turned around quickly, searching for the source of the plea. But it was only rose and gold around her._

"_Who are you?" she called._

"_Let me out. Please."_

_Then she was staring into an iridescent, silvery bubble. In that bubble was- herself._

_But the woman in the bubble was a feminine recreation, frighteningly slender with enormous eyes and sensuous lips… like something out of a fashion magazine for the too-fantasy-minded. She was dressed in something flowing and gauzy and scarlet and her long, slender fingers pressed against the interior of her prison. Humming imperceptibly behind her were a pair of enormous wings, oblongs of shining turquoise-silver._

"_Let me out," the woman begged._

_Mara could only stare in horror. "No, never!" she stammered despite herself. She automatically backed away, repulsed._

"_Let me out! It isn't fair! I want to be free!"_

_Mara turned and fled as the fairy's screams became hysterical, digging into her mind like slender curved hooks._

Mara instantly woke up, damp with sweat. She stared up at the ceiling and tried to get her heart to slow down before it thumped its way out of her chest. Her fairy-self's screams still echoed hollowly in her ears and she shivered, wrapping herself in her blankets tightly. Peeking out from her impromptu nest, she squinted to look at the electric numerals of her clock. She had at least two more hours before Gareth came by for their dawn run.

Though by all right she should have been getting as much sleep as she could, she couldn't bring herself to close her eyes again. There was just too much of a risk of meeting that fairy-self. A shudder ran through her body.

Never, ever would she become a fairy, she swore. Never.

* * *

Mara had to work up some courage to deliver Marlowe's letter to Chaucer. She fingered the thick ivory parchment of the envelope at one point. One corner was marked with a sinuous black sigil, a wizard's mark if her magical studies class was correct. However, she could not discern its origin or meaning and gave it up as a lost cause. Not that she had any business knowing what it was.

After a surprisingly sedate Survival class, she went up to Chaucer and handed him the envelope. "Professor… when I went to Lucern, I met- a man named Marlow. He said to give this to you."

An expression that she had never seen on him crossed his face. His eyes bulged in their sockets and his lips tightened, all in a few seconds. She would have called that expression "grim" and yet it seemed more than that.

"Did he, now?" he said, deceptively mild. She stiffened, knowing that tone meant nothing but trouble. He took the envelope from her, turned it over to examine the sigil, and finally stuffed it into his jerkin pocket.

"Thank you, Frey," he said stiffly. "You won't be serving as my aide for today. Or tomorrow."

Recognizing the dismissal, Mara saluted him and left the classroom.

She changed into her practice uniform and headed for a few bouts in her training class. Instructor Hellin, having pounded practice dances into them, was examining their ingenuity in applying said practice dances. He didn't have to whack them with the flat of a wooden sword very often; he let the falls, bruises, and injuries they incurred on each other do the painful lessoning.

When he caught Mara doing a complicated block that Marlowe had taught her on Lucern, he barked for an instant halt to the bout.

"Where did you learn that?" he rumbled sternly, dark eyes boring into her.

"On Lucern, sir," she replied.

"From whom?"

"A- a member of the guard there, sir."

"I see." His brow furrowed. "Stay after class, Frey. We need to talk."

Mara finished the class in mild dread, knowing that the last words were often synonymous with "We'll be having a private verbal evisceration session that may or may not end in the most creative punishment I can administer to you."

Once the others had left, Gregori giving Mara a pitying expression, Instructor Hellin looked at her for a minute or two, long enough for her to be tempted to squirm right on the spot. But she didn't. Fortunately, the saturnine instructor had nothing on Codatorta's gimlet glare.

"I understand that classical style is boring, Frey," he lectured. "I understand that other warriors have… tricks that they use. But- you are a first year. And you _will_ learn the classical style and obey my style of teaching. Understood?"

"Yes sir." Mara knew the futility of protesting, even though Marlow had scoffed at her classical moves ("Pompous idiocy to look good," he had sniped while tripping up her legs for the umpteenth time. "Like your opponent's going to wait for you to take proper position before trying to eviscerate you.").

"Good. Dismissed."

* * *

"Whoa!" Gareth was actually pushed back as Mara pounded the pads lining his hands and forearms with her wrapped fists. He raised his arms further as she kept pounding away at him without mercy.

Sometimes Gareth gave her hand-to-hand training when she had a free period and she took it gladly. There was something utterly satisfying about using only fists and feet in a fight. Perhaps it was the intimacy of attacks, of truly feeling the force of her body connect, and the equal intimacy of receiving attacks from her opponent. Her blood pumped faster and harder and a savage joy filled her from head to toe.

"Time out!" he bellowed. She drew back and went to her water bottle, taking a long drink.

"Damnation," Gareth swore. "What's eating you, Frey?" He was rewrapping his padding as he spoke.

She hesitated, closing the bottle. "It's nothing," she said, gruffly.

"Nothing, my ass. Something's been bugging you. Is it Gabriel again?"

"No. He's been on the down low," she replied honestly. She hadn't seen hide or hair of the arrogant boy for a few weeks. Normally this would have bothered her but she couldn't be bothered with keeping track of him, not when she had a lot more on her plate.

"Then what is it?"

She hesitated again. "I've been having odd- dreams," she finally admitted. Damn Gareth. He knew her too well at this point.

He arched a fine mahogany eyebrow at her. "Nightmares?" he ventured.

"Of a fairy. Me, as a fairy." The story came out in drips and drabbles as she was forced to vocalize those haunting dreams. Suddenly that wraith creature's thin, tinny screams echoed in her ears and she flinched.

He tilted his head at her. "I see…"

"I just need to keep myself busy," she finally bit out, angry with herself. In daylight, those fears seemed silly and she felt even sillier admitting them to Gareth.

"That'll make the dreams more potent," he scolded. But his voice was almost gentle. She felt instantly soothed but shoved that feeling away instantly. Coddling wouldn't do any good, she told herself fiercely.

"Dreamless sleep stuff then."

"You don't use that lightly," he warned sharply. He then looked thoughtful as she sulked. "If you don't mind me asking… is being a fairy that- repulsive to you?" He asked carefully, without censure or judgment. Damn Gareth. Damn him for being- perfect at this.

"I'm not a fairy!" she snarled at him in a burst of completely irrational, completely defensive fury. "I never will be. Not pretty and with those stupid wings and wearing a damn dress…" She trailed off, flushing as the sudden burst faded away in favor of her normally cool-headed rationality. Her own arguments sounded stupid to her, much less confessed to one of the few people in her life she truly admired.

"I see." He still looked extremely thoughtful. Then he raised his forearms, bracing his legs. "Come at me. We'll exhaust you properly tonight then."

True to form, he made sure she was so tired that by the time she got to her room, she went through taking a shower and brushing her teeth in a daze. Though she hadn't thought it possible, she was asleep before her head even properly hit her pillow.

"_Not you again!" Mara snarled. She ran and ran and ran through that pink and gold mist. Still, the screams of her fairy-self followed her, begging and pleading pitiably._

_Frustrated, she reached out before her and clawed at the air. To her surprise, the mist ripped quite visibly, as if she had torn apart a curtain. But in that rip, a void speckled with a million distant stars exploded, reaching for her with ragged fingers. It frightened her, that voice, but she saw no other alternative. Even as she prepared to leap through, she felt something grab her ankle._

_Whirling, she turned and found her fairy self grabbing onto her leg with all her might._

"_Don't leave me! Don't lock me up any more!" the fragile parody begged._

_Even as she pleaded and cried prettily enough to make a movie director proud, she faded, her hands becoming skeletal claws, her cheeks sinking in until the only prominent feature was her burning mahogany eyes set deep into the face of a skull. Mara stared in horror and tried to rip free, even as she felt her hair grow and pressure build at her back until wings burst out, brilliantly electric azure…_

It was no surprise that once she woke up screaming, she didn't get much sleep that night.

* * *

Mara spent the rest of her week catching up with her homework. No word was on any upcoming missions, whether they were shadowing or otherwise; something she was honestly glad about.

In midst of her very rare free time, she was passing through a corridor of advanced practice rooms, padded and mirrored and meant for individual or two-person use. She peeked through the windows every so often; none of them were being used in the late afternoon, when classes were being wrapped up or when students chose to chill out in the quad. Except for one of them. She stopped, staring into the glass door of the room.

Inside was Instructor Chaucer.

He was clad in black as usual, in metal armor this time, instead of the matte leather he typically wore in class. In his gauntleted hands was a pair of wickedly curved and barbed blades, not the crystalline prisms of Red Fountain but real metal. Somehow, it made him all the deadlier. Perhaps it was because the oft-garish crystal blades had a fantastical effect, despite the damage she _had_ seen them inflict, but these weapons offered no fantasies. Their faintly blue-gray gleam promised nothing but death.

Her breath caught in her throat as he began to fight a dozen invisible enemies. Unlike Andrei's acrobatics or Gareth's classical style, he fought ruthlessly and efficiently and there was beauty in that. The air screamed at his slashes and thrusts. If there were any true opponents, he likely would have been painting the walls with their blood (Mara didn't consider herself unusually violent-minded but that was the imagery that came almost instantly to mind).

He didn't yell as he thrust, didn't even grunt with exertion. Throughout his exercise, he was quiet except for the movements of his sword and the occasional clink of his armor. He soon slowed down, the dance ending as he dispatched with his last enemy with exaggerated care before sheathing his blades.

Then he turned and fixed his gaze at the door before stalking over and opening it. Mara froze in place; running would have made things worse, likely enough.

"Did you find that entertaining?" he asked icily.

"Astounding, sir." And she was being serious.

His eyes narrowed and stared right into her with awful clarity. For a horrible moment, she was frightened and yet incredibly calm. "Don't make a point of being an audience on a regular basis," he finally rasped before shutting the door pointedly.

She escaped, shaking her head. But still, as she headed to the library to get some work done, she marveled at the memory of Chaucer leaping in the air, swords flashing.

* * *

Most students knew better than to goof off in the library but it didn't stop gossip sessions in the study rooms in the back. Mara typically dropped into a cubicle for an hour or two, until she spotted W waving her over into a larger study room. Once she entered, he bumped the door closed before giving her a wry smile and leaving it slightly open.

"Like we'd be canoodling in the library," he muttered.

Mara fixed him with a look. "Other places on the other hand," she jabbed.

He snorted. "Get some cleavage and then we'll talk," he replied crudely. She hit him on the shoulder, making him grunt out a curse.

"Where's Bishop anyways?" she asked in genuine curiosity.

"Practice," W said vaguely.

She arched her eyebrows. "I thought you had classes together."

"One on one time with hook fighting," he finally elaborated. "He doesn't need me there."

The eyebrows remained up. "I wasn't implying it."

He snorted again. "Think what you want," he replied rather rudely.

Though she knew that she should start working, Mara was in an odd mood for procrastination. Besides, W wasn't the worst of conversationalists.

"Bishop's technically a prince, isn't he?" Mara asked suddenly. "You are too, right? And he's higher ranked than you?"

"Bishop's not a prince," W informed her quite seriously. "Neither am I.

"What is he then?"

"A Grand Duke. Or to be one," he said with more dignity than she thought possible.

"Huh. Right. What about you?"

He shrugged carelessly. "I don't have a real rank. I'm technically Bishop's bodyguard. Though at this point… he doesn't need one at all; he's a better fighter than I am. I don't have a title either; that's my dad's, if you're going on all that bullshit about protocol." Let it not be known that W never minced his words, even in "polite company."

She gaped at him. "What?"

He grimaced. "My family used to serve his. A couple generations ago, a princess from his bloodline married her bodyguard, who was from mine. So my buddy Bishop and I are roughly third cousins. Give or take a few relatives. I never kept count."

"Interesting." She wasn't being sarcastic either.

"Still," he continued, "There's the tradition that my bloodline takes care of his and I'm not interested in Pop's territory so I figure I might as well serve under Bishop and take that job."

She blinked at him. "You won't take the title?"

"The territory, idiot. No. I'm not interested in it and I don't have to take it, thank the Dragon. But that leaves one source of income out."

"What other options would you have?" She was absolutely fascinated. Forget homework; this was far more interesting.

He ticked them off for her on his rough fingers. "Guard some other royal. Resign and be a full time sorcerer or wizard, though wouldn't do it at this point; I'm too old for most schools but I can find someone to take me as an apprentice _maybe_. Teach here or at some private school, though I'm a crap teacher. Become a mercenary."

"Seriously?" She was staring at him.

"You mean the mercenary part? Yeah. My lord father wouldn't like it but I could do it." He looked perfectly at ease about it however.

"Interesting… I thought they wouldn't let you do that here."

"You mean the higher ups here? In Red Fountain? Don't be shittin' me," he scoffed. "We gotta put food on the table somehow and buy our cell phones and fix our bikes. We gotta have a retirement fund too, the ladies want someone with the cash. Nobility doesn't get ya through life. I still have to have _something_ to do in my life too, besides making money." He sounded absolutely pragmatic about it as well.

"How good is mercenary work?" She was absolutely fascinated. This was an aspect she never really thought of, the jobs that came after graduation from a school of specialists.

"Depends on what you do. Sign up with a good Company or Group, you can earn a lot, be able to pick and choose your contracts too. Independents don't get much… Unless you're _really_ good. Then again, Independents can pick and choose a lot better than even some of the better Companies, at the price of not knowing when next contracts are coming. If I decided to go through that way, I'd go to a Company. I'm not so good to be an Independent." This was a different side of W, who she took to be a particularly arrogant man, especially concerning his martial abilities, and was both disturbing and interesting.

"A lot of people do it, right?"

"Not as many as you think. Only in certain parts of the galaxies. But there's a market for 'em, certainly."

"Sorcerers too, right?"

"Now that's another tricky business," W replied. "Different market altogether. Economics and that shit. I'm not explaining it to you."

"I don't expect you to." After a pause she asked, curiously, "How do you know all this?"

"Had to research it," was the blunt answer. "My House isn't so financially stable that I can depend on them for a free ride." Mara also knew that his inherent pride wouldn't let it happen but she didn't say that. "I'm not letting my brothers and sisters be without a house or food or an education or I have to pull my own load at the least."

"Oh, W, you really care."

He snarled at her. "Don't get any ideas," he said gruffly. "I'm the second oldest. Oldest boy. Mom popped out lots of kids before the doctor said to stop. I have a horny goat for a dad and Mom doesn't discourage him. She _likes_ kids." He stopped when he realized she was turning faintly green at having to think about those sorts of relations, though he smirked smugly.

"My older sis is making an alliance marriage. But it won't support our family forever or indefinitely," he continued idly. "And this is public record! I'm not being stupidly revealing to the likes of _you_." His utter disgust was palpable as he scowled at her.

She only smirked at him and he muttered something unflattering about her parentage.

"I have an uncle or two who does mercenary work too," he continued. "I met some of their friends and asked them about the business. I have a few contacts still. Even got a waiting contract if I'm interested, up until the year after I graduate."

At this information, Mara suddenly had a flash of insight. "You know a man named Marlow?" she asked W casually.

His brow furrowed. "Name sounds familiar." Then his eyes widened. "Ah! Now I remember! Yes. He's a sorcerer, a pretty damn good tracker. Currently allied with Lucern special forces though that's a damn waste in my thought. Why do you ask?"

"I met him."

W clicked his tongue. "He's from a Gray Peak school," he said. "Strange lot of sorcerers. Not quite… good, not quite bad."

"Only for themselves?" she suggested wryly.

He snorted. "Aren't we all?" he demanded.

"Speaking of which, here's your edited essay." She slid over a slim stack of papers that she had been keeping in her backpack for a while.

W only grunted at her in response, going over his hand-written essay, which was marked by Mara's precise but somewhat eccentric hand in red ink.

"Gray Peak… Do they take girls?" Mara asked offhandedly.

He blinked at her. "Yeah but under different conditions. Teach them different things, I think, but they generally give the same education. Don't tell me you're transferring!" A note of dismay mingled with panic filled his voice.

"Hardly. I'd make a crap sorceress. And you'd fail your history classes because I'm not here to help you with your papers," she retorted.

He flipped her the bird, making her snort in helpless laughter.

* * *

Mara had to make her excuse to Madame Ruri as she soon found it difficult to even make it once a week to Magix to get her lessons. Gareth assured her it was all right but she felt uneasy about the business.

Madame Ruri was waiting for her that night, after she had finished her work in the library with W, but the older woman was clad in a simple gown of lavender and cream linen. She wore matching elbow length gloves but was unarmed.

"I have nothing more to teach you," the venerable woman said finally.

Mara's jaw nearly dropped.

"Be ladylike," the older woman remonstrated coolly. "I will have no more lessons with you."

"W-why?"

Violet eyes gazed at her sidelong. "A rude question but understandable. While you would have had a long way to go with my training, I believe I have taught you what you need to know for now. You are training for a different world than the one I was teaching you of."

"I see…" An arched eyebrow prompted a swift, "Madame."

"Gareth meant well in bringing you to me. You have certainly benefited from my teachings. But we must part ways." Then a wintery smile crossed the woman's red painted lips, the typical smile that didn't reach her frosty violet eyes. "Unless you care to join my world."

Mara shivered under her jacket. "No thank you, Madame."

"We may meet again, Mara Frey." She reached over to adjust Mara's collar. "Do take care of yourself."

Mara staggered out of the room. Gareth stared at her and quickly put his teacup down.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"I'm not coming back here," she replied, shakily. "She said that I don't need any more lessons."

Gareth looked at her wildly and something clicked in his mind. He nodded slowly. "Should have seen it coming," he finally said. "Come on. I'll get you a coffee and we can go back."

* * *

Gareth ordered them both coffee from a late night restaurant to go. He took his normal rambling and breakneck road back to Red Fountain, but once they got out (Mara cursing because a spectacular hair pin turn had surprised her and caused her to spill coffee on her jeans), he took her to a different part of the school.

"Where are we going?" She looked around at the hallways, which weren't decaying around them but at the same time had an air of neglect.

"You'll see. By the way, don't show this to everyone. I'll get killed."

Soon they were climbing up a spiral stair that was very cramped and a little dusty. Mara sneezed at least seven times (she counted) and had to balance her coffee as she tried to keep her balance on the stairs. At the top of the stairs, Gareth had to shove a small, heavy door open to a cacophony of complaining shrieks of the hinges. But once the reluctant door relented and let them in, she found herself in a small chamber.

"I haven't seen this room before," she breathed.

It was narrow chamber of smooth gray stone with a window that filled the entire opposite wall and looked out in the forest surrounding Red Fountain. Dust hung over most of the floor but in the moonlight that came in through the window, the stone seemed to glow silver and the cobwebs that filled corners seemed to have been spun from clouds and starlight.

"It's an old viewing chamber," Gareth said. "It used to be used as a resting area for some of the higher ranked teachers of Red Fountain."

"Any reason?" She headed over to the window, coffee forgotten. It was the most amazing view of the grounds she had ever seen.

"They were from a planet that worshiped moonlight and night time. They used it for their meditations. But when the last of them left- well, nobody had much of a use for this. Some of the instructors and I come up here to meditate or talk." He was dragging forward a few battered chairs.

"Why did you bring me here then?" she asked as she gingerly sat in one of the offered chairs. Gareth levered himself into the other one.

"Because it's a nice place," he replied honestly. "And maybe you can get a little perspective from it."

"Perspective?"

He shrugged, smiling enigmatically. "Or just talk. I don't think we've done that for a while, have we?"

"I- don't think we have," she admitted slowly. She'd been busy with schoolwork and missions. Gareth was dangerously close to becoming an afterthought at times, she realized with some shame.

"Then talk."

But when she couldn't really find anything to say, Gareth talked about his day to day basic training of some of the upperclassmen. He mentioned some promising ones that unfortunately he had to beat down every so often. Then he looked sidelong at her.

"I hear that you got into some trouble with Instructor Hellin."

Mara flushed. "Yeah." She stared down at her coffee. "I- learned a new block at Lucern from a member of the guard and used it by complete accident. Instructor Hellin got mad."

Gareth snorted. "Hellin never changed from his days at school," he mused. "He's always wanted his own way, no ifs, ands, ors, or buts. But you have to live with that for now. Just watch yourself when you're in his class."

Mara exhaled. "It's hard," she admitted softly.

"Because classical fighting isn't practical?" he asked shrewdly. "Of course it isn't! But it's a form you got to learn for now. Remember, you're not like most freshmen. You've already gotten two missions, one of which would have been given to a junior or senior squad. We wouldn't have expected those results from sophomores." He sounded inordinately proud of her though.

"I've done street fighting before too," Mara mentioned very quietly.

"You've told me." He looked at her steadily.

"And- this is almost no different," she said. "It's different out there, when you're fighting someone, especially when they want to hurt you, even kill you." She pulled her knees to her chest, not bothering to add "or worse."

"If you're lucky, you won't have any more missions this year," Gareth mentioned lightly.

"But I started learning, Gareth. And I can't stop it. Not now." She suddenly felt very tired and just a bit frustrated. It was difficult to vocalize it all to Gareth, on top of her own fears of the dreams that had been haunting her lately. Though he wouldn't judge her, he would have a hard time understanding, she thought.

"Come on, let's get you to bed. It's late and you need your sleep." Gareth got up, ushering her out of the room.

* * *

Spring break was coming up. To Mara's surprise, it was as big of a holiday as it was in Earth. Boys chattered about going to their home planets or long expected vacations involving rather dubious activities. She herself didn't care. Her family would be more than happy to have her back but they told her that if she had other concerns, to not worry about it.

So it startled her when Nathanial popped the question.

"You want me to what?" she stared at him over the rim of her cup of juice at lunch.

"Come over for spring break," he repeated patiently. "It'll be fun." He flashed an utterly charming smile at her.

"Are- are you sure?" she asked, just a little awkwardly.

"Of course I am. Besides, we also have the Miss Magix competition too this year- and lots of other things," he amended hastily once he realized who he was talking to.

"Hmm… let me guess, you're inviting the squad too?"

"Sure. It's not as though we don't have room," he said easily. "Bishop and W even said that they might drop by."

"Really?"

"Honestly. Just come over. My parents would love to meet you," he said, surprisingly earnest.

"If you put it that way-" she replied a little awkwardly.

"Good!" He grinned at her. "Don't worry about permission, I got it!"

"How nice of you," she murmured. "And how did you know that what I'd say?"

"I just do." He winked at her cheekily and she rolled her eyes heavenward.

Spring break rolled around eventually and the excitement only grew. Mara sent her regards (and regrets) to her family and made her preparations to go to Popularus. While packing, she frowned at the clothing she had laid out on the bed. It wasn't promising… so she resigned herself to wearing jeans as often as she could while she was there. She could get away with wearing a dress shirt and slacks with Nathanial's parents, right?

"What's this I hear about you going to Popularus for spring break?" Gareth's voice asked from the doorway.

She turned her head to look at him. "Oh, I must've forgotten to tell you." Truth be told _she'd_ nearly forgotten that she was going on the trip herself until Nathanial kindly reminded her yesterday.

"Nathanial's doing, I see," he said wryly, coming in. Fortunately Mara had packed her- "intimates" already and was only sorting through outer wear.

She shrugged. "He said I need to get out more," she replied truthfully. She peered at him. "You don't like the idea?"

"Not at all. It's your spring break." He had no sense of irony to his tone, astonishingly enough. "You deserve the rest. Popularus's hiking parks are very pleasant. Not sure if you'd appreciate their bar maids as much as me though." This time, his grin held so much irony, she could have suspended a magnet in the air.

"What are you doing then, Gareth?" She pointedly ignored his last statement.

"Familial obligations," he replied with a slight grimace. "Engagement talks."

"Not for you, certainly," she said, slightly alarmed and yet amused. He would be grumpy for weeks and not to mention extremely skittish; he'd had to leave school for an engagement talk once already, not counting the clubbing incident.

"Not for me this time," he agreed. "One of my cousins. It's a love match but her boyfriend's family are sticklers for etiquette and making sure it's all planned right." He grimaced a bit. "Which means I'll be in military gear."

"You served?" she asked. Well then, this wasn't what she'd expected! While she knew that he hadn't gotten the job at Red Fountain immediately after graduation, he hadn't been forthcoming about what he'd done for the two years in between.

"For a year. I'm still only a corporal, only because I was a specialist." He added hastily, "It doesn't mean much but because of etiquette…"

"You should wear appropriate military attire for your rank," she noted. "I know. I have family in the military."

"Yeah."

"Military life isn't for you?" she asked shrewdly.

He looked over at her and smiled a little. "I like fighting. I like fighting in a lot of different styles," he replied a bit enigmatically. He then looked over at her bed. "I never knew you had this much," he said with humor.

She shrugged, noting his change in topic and respecting it. For the moment. "I'm just going through it because I don't know what the hell to bring over to Popularus."

He stroked his chin slowly. "They won't judge you on brands," he said. "I can promise you that."

"Don't want to look like a frump either," she replied tartly. "Niceness only goes so far."

"Want to make a good impression on Nathanial's parents?" he teased.

"What if I do?" she asked, flushing despite her efforts not to rise to the bait.

"Then you could have asked me," he said patiently. He went through the clothes on her bed. "Now let's see… there's a record heat wave going on over there." He then proceeded to drill her in basic Popularus customs (which weren't hard at all, really) while helping her come up with some outfits that would be considered appropriate even in the sternest of royal courts but _weren't_ so feminine as to make her hurl. That was incredibly gratifying.

Bishop ghosted into Mara's room later that night, bearing his guitar. She was finishing packing the last of her clothes, with exception of her bodysuit and cloak (just for appearance's sake). Once he entered, she glanced up at him and smiled briefly.

"I was wondering when you were going to come around," she said. "I haven't seen you in a while."

He nodded mutely and sat in his usual seat by the door. Tuning his guitar, he plucked out a plain scale before picking out one of his usual melodies. He claimed that her company was better for his practice. She couldn't protest, not when she welcomed the background noise every so often, even when she was studying.

"Where are you heading for Spring Break?" she asked, sitting down across from him.

"Home," he replied tersely.

"Just because?"

He nodded, soon starting a new song. It was… a little sad.

She tilted her head, nothing something familiar about the melody. "Is this a variation of Bohemian Rhapsody?" she asked with some disbelief.

He didn't smile but his eyes softened very slightly. "Despite not knowing who Galileo is, I like the song," he replied, deadpan.

"Remind me to get you more Queen CDs then, when I go back home."

He tensed suddenly at those last words and the next few chords were a bit duller. "Good luck on your finals," he said suddenly and he continued to play.

She stared at him. "What? Bishop, what's going on?" But as much as she annoyed him, she couldn't wrestle a straight answer out of him for the rest of the night. Even with almond M&Ms.

* * *

**Gratuitous Author Babble (GAB):**

Over 200 reviews! Wow!

And more Gareth, W, and Bishop action! I seriously love these guys. As much fun it is to write about the two stooges (Nathanial and Gregori), it's just as much fun to write about the more mature ones (well, that's a tricky business when you're referring to W). It's also far too amusing writing about Mara's interactions with them, though I particularly like the banter and insults with W and the cheekiness that always ensues when she's around Bishop.

We now get a bit more of Gareth's back story and his (short) military career, as well as his very insane and oddly traditional family. Bishop's paranoid and W is smarter than he looks. All three points will be looked at later.

I'm intending on finishing USW as soon as I can, maybe in as few as four or so chapters. As I've said recently, I am planning on re-releasing Under Shadowed Wings (possibly under a new title) with quite a bit of judicious editing to fix plot holes, character development, and other things that have been bugging me since I started writing this monstrosity three years ago. I have a sequel in the works right now, actually. Much, much darker storyline with political intrigues and fragile relationships… If this is a coming of age story for Mara, the next one is a trial by fire.

Oh, by the way, here's an interesting addition I may start adding to the Author's Notes, complete with commentary with Mara and Nathanial! Special guests may make their appearances in the future based on reader requests!

Mara strolls in from the back, her shirt extremely wrinkled and her hair absolutely disheveled. "By the way, bungy jumping is worth it," she says in the absolutely enraptured tone of someone who had done something extremely fun yet extremely stupid.

"Yes, when you feel the bungy tugging away at the braces at your ankles, with a ravine a couple hundred feet below you," the Author snaps at her, pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. She's shorter and plumper than Mara and with rather strong prescription glasses. Her wardrobe consists of snarky t-shirts, jeans, and slip-on sneakers or an endless array of soft PJ pants.

Mara makes a dismissive gesture. "You get a free t-shirt too!"

"Where's Nat?" the Author demands.

"He got motion sickness and he's hurling his guts out in the bathroom," Mara replies.

"What?!" the Author roars. "How is that- possible?!"

Mara shrugs. "Ask him." She mutters something along the lines of "Pansy."

Author shakes a finger at Mara. "You leave him alone!"

Nathanial stumbles in, looking rather green still. "Never… doing that again," he moans.

Mara grins and takes pictures from the digital camera at her wrist. "I _knew_ that there was some time you wouldn't be so dignified!" she says with unholy glee. "Wait till we get the pictures out! And your bungy jumping video! I never knew you can scream soprano-"

Nathanial lurches toward Mara ungracefully. "Don't you dare!" he bellows as she starts running away at full speed.

The Author rubs at her temples. "Damn characters."


	22. Chapter 21: Popularus Holds the Key

Chapter Twenty One: Popularus is the Key to Your Heart

* * *

To Nathanial's profound disappointment, his parents weren't home for his arrival. His father's Seneschal apologized profusely, saying there had been an emergency. Of his sisters, one was vacationing with her friends and the other was with their parents.

Popularus was a pleasant planet with architecture that reminded Mara rather of Paris, except with wider streets and more room between buildings. And cleaner. The people there were extraordinarily good looking but in a manner that was welcoming and warm, instead of aloof. Gareth had been an absolute asset to her packing as her jeans and collared shirts didn't garner much negative attention at all. Even her cropped hair didn't pass much notice; many of the women were favoring the androgynous look this year, apparently. The only ones with particularly long hair, Nathanial soon told her, were the dancers.

Nathanial chose to stay in the guest wing with them instead of going to his own rooms. When Mara asked him about that a little suspiciously, he shrugged blithely and pointed out that he had helped design this particular part of the palace.

This was where Mara discovered his disturbing love for the dramatic. Their current wing had six rooms, named after six patrons of arts in Popularus, rather like the human Muses. Nathanial took "Eloquence," the largest room. Marcus had "Craft," Gregori had "Melody," Thorne had "Drama," and Mara had "Movement." She wasn't particularly amused by the frescoes of dancing nymphs in very, very diaphanous dresses in her suite. The last room, "Literature," was kept locked; Nathanial said glibly that it was undergoing repairs.

They all had dinner together on one of the massive verandas in a very pleasant though very elaborate series of courses. Mara had her first taste of Popularus's famed honeyed wines and their very exquisite vegetarian cuisine (they weren't strangers to meat but they generally preferred vegetarian fare as part of their philosophy of general pacifism and hospitality). Pleasantly tipsy, she tilted her sixth glass (a very, very smooth raspberry-citrus blend that seemed to vanish before it even hit the back of her throat) against the soft light of the outdoor lanterns. Everybody else was just as relaxed and nicely indolent. She watched light play against the red ruby of her glass as strains of pleasant music hovered in the air offering a soothing backdrop.

Nathanial was very well-acquainted with the servants, bantering with them and thanking them all by name. They in return adored him, as a son or sibling, though they were always respectful. Though all of them were pampered, Marcus and Thorne were doted upon by the women, who filled their plates and glasses with good-natured admonishments. Mara was content to let them at it.

Mara had a little trouble getting back to her room that night, after declining a night on the town with Nathanial, Marcus and Gregori. She licked at her lips in memory of the lemon tart for dessert as she walked not-quite-smoothly past the fountain that was in front of the suite. The wine must have been more potent than she'd thought because she nearly topped in, catching herself in time to get no worse than part of her arm in the water. Half draped over the edge of the fountain, she looked into the water.

Her reflection looked up at her and her dark hair seemed that much longer. The moonlight cast a silvery edge to the ripples of the fountain and somehow gave her the impression of wings. She recoiled, landing flat on her butt on the grass. Shivering, she staggered to her room and falling into bed, asleep before she hit the covers.

* * *

Mara made a point of keeping her exercise regime though she lightened it slightly, not bothering with the five mile run. She did keep up her pushups, sit-ups, and pull-ups (a towel rack in her bathroom did wonders for the last), as well as shadow boxing and some basic fencing moves. Though her body protested (the wine had left her with a small but rather uncomfortable headache), she doggedly continued. Gareth had taught her all too quickly that just a little bit of laxness in training could have devastating effects. She headed out to the courtyard and stared at the fountain. Mara's brow furrowed as she remembered her warped reflection in the water. Maybe she'd really had too much to drink last night-

She heard the first step and reacted without thinking, drawing her blade and pivoting sharply. But it was only Thorne, who was in a plain shirt and soft drawstring pants, both colored a soft warm gray that clashed slightly with his hair and eyes. He blinked quizzically at her.

"Good morning?" he hazarded, stepping out into the grass.

"Dammit, don't scare me like that," she said, swallowing.

He smiled softly. "I know you wouldn't hurt me," he confided without sarcasm, making _her_ blink quizzically at him. His bare toes curled in the damp grass. Blades of grass surrounding them leaned inward, vying to get closer to him.

"Really?" replied Mara.

He nodded. "Of course," he answered quite casually. "You've got better reflexes than that."

She still stared at him oddly. He'd been out of sight (and almost out of mind) on Lucern, which had exempted him with the debacle with Lynette. She didn't blame him for going off on his own; finding the chimera had really done a number on him and he'd always returned for dinner at the very least. Though she'd thought to talk to him, he'd always dodged her; she thought it best to leave him be.

"Are you- okay?" she asked him finally, unable to take it anymore.

He tilted his head. "I seem odd?" he asked quite placidly.

"Well- yeah." No use beating around the bush. She was also truly concerned.

He mulled over it as he knelt on the grass and passed his hands over it slowly. "I talked with the chaplain at Lucern," he said finally. "A very nice man and very understanding- he helped me quite a bit."

"Did he now?"

Thorne nodded. "He's also a Sensitive too. He taught me more shielding techniques, better ones."

"That's good to hear." It meant that Thorne wouldn't wake up screaming and thus scare the living daylights out of everyone in the vicinity. But still- this serenity was very odd for Thorne, who was admittedly rather high-strung and nervous. Even when he was tipsy or otherwise a little less inhibited, he always retained a vestige of that nervousness, like a "long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs" as one of her uncles would say.

He contemplated the sky slowly. "I need to be a stronger person," he said at last, frowning for once. It made his gentle, effeminate features harsh, a parody of seriousness. "I'm too weak as it is. I will grow stronger. For everyone's sake."

The skin at the back of her neck prickled. "Strength isn't for strength's sake," she found herself saying, quoting Gareth and Madam Ruri.

"Of course." But he didn't sound like he believed her. He got to his feet again. "But I won't be pitiful again," he answered softly as he walked past her to the suite again.

She found herself staring at him, her skin suddenly cold despite the pleasantly warm air.

The first two days of spring break were some of the best Mara could remember. There really was nothing like having a luxurious and placid breakfast in a rose garden before heading out to the nearby hills to hike at a pleasantly brisk pace before discovering a hidden creek and pond to jump into and fish from. They brought back their spoils to have their catch fried up for dinner before trudging out to town, first to an observatory to view the first stars that appeared in the night sky then to an energetic dance club.

She found time to catch up on some reading on the third day while she relaxed on the edge of a fountain. The others were off doing their own thing and to be honest, she liked the solitude. As much as she liked them (for the most part), she appreciated some peace and quiet to actually do some reading for pleasure. However the words seemed to dance before her eyes and she was soon content to leave them at it, dozing in the comfortable sun. Mara cracked her eyes open when she saw a young woman with curly white hair pass by her.

She was slim and tall with wide eyes of a brilliant gold, and her skin the color of tea generously splashed with milk. Her clothing was less exotic than her looks, consisting of a teal blouse and elegant white silk skirt that shimmered against her long legs.

Mara sat up slowly and cleared her throat quietly. The woman turned and fixed her eyes on Mara. "Oh!" she murmured. "Do you know where Prince Nathanial is?" Though she was polite, faultlessly so, and even congenial, she held a touch of imperiousness to her tones.

Maybe it was because Mara was used to traveling in groups where what was unsaid was far more important. But she ignored that. "I think he's in his room, reading," she offered.

The girl exhaled in vague exasperation. "That boy," she muttered. "Thank you very much." She then strolled, bold as you please, past. Mara found herself unable to stop her.

Afternoon tea had the young woman in attendance and Mara was officially introduced to Nathanial's second oldest sister, Helene.

The siblings were friendly and truly affectionate but there was a faint distance between them. Helene was flawlessly congenial, as she flirted decorously with the boys and treated Mara with no less than perfect hospitality. Nonetheless, she lacked that extra warmth that her younger brother had, or at least as far as Mara could tell. Though she couldn't put her finger on it, the younger girl shrugged it off and finally settled on making short work of the handsome cherry and chocolate cake that was the piece de resistance for the meal.

"Mother and Father tell me that they've arranged for a private box for you at the Miss Magix pageant," Helene finally announced. "So you don't have to be at the royal box."

"That's good of them," Nathanial said while she smiled wryly.

"I'll be sitting there instead, since they're still finishing their business with Chrysolite."

"Didn't you win Miss Magix five years ago?" Gregori asked.

Helene laughed softly. "By default," she said. "My ballet isn't nearly as good as it could be. Since I'm twenty-one now, I'm not eligible to enter. Nor am I particularly interested any longer." She tilted her head to look at Marcus. "Wasn't your sister in the top four one year, Marcus?"

Marcus smiled, a hint of strain at the corners of his lips. "Yes. She also won Miss Congeniality."

Mara quickly changed topics though Helene must have realized that she had touched on an extremely sensitive subject instantly and looked slightly flustered.

"So, Princess Helene, I take it you're a graduate of Alfea?" she asked as politely as she could, seizing the first question that came to her mind.

The older woman gave her an odd look but followed through. "Yes, I am."

"I was just wondering because I'm sure there are other academies," Mara said hastily.

Helene smiled. "Alfea is almost consistently on the top of the list of magical institutions, particularly since Miss Feragonda has been made Headmistress."

"Which probably rankles Professor Griffon to no end," Gregori laughed. "Damn if that woman isn't scary though."

"You've met her?" Mara asked him in surprise.

"Both the headmistresses are hardly recluses," Helene pointed out. "They do make appearances. Though it is a very silly hostess who dares put them at the same table side by side!"

"As Aunt Augusta learned during one festival," Nathanial said with a grin.

Helene rolled her eyes to the heavens. "At the cost of a fountain, twelve boxes of champagne imported from Eraklyon, part of the Philios Pavilion's roof and Mother's second-best coronet. I don't think she's quite forgiven Aunt Augusta for the coronet. Even if it was the tackiest one of the entire collection."

"Hey, I thought it was a nice one," Nathanial protested.

"That's only because whenever you sang its praises, Great-Aunt Lyra would give you extra pocket money," Helene said tartly.

* * *

Mara wasn't quite sure why but she found herself sitting on the roof of their wing of the palace that night, sharing a bottle of wine with Nathanial. They were both full from dinner (which had finished with the most amazing coffee and chocolate trifle Mara had ever had, seriously, the first bite had almost sent tears to her eyes) which meant that the alcohol wasn't going to hit them hard anytime soon. The stars were out and shining even with the soft glow of the palace and the city nearby. Marcus was in a frenzy of engineering in his room, probably re circuiting his computer again. Gregori was last seen flirting with one of the maids. Thorne… well, they left him alone for the most part since he seemed to like being in the gardens the most.

"So you and Helene," Mara started, raising her glass and squinting at it. How much had she had for dinner, honestly?

"Yes?" Nathanial asked, sounding much more lucid than he should have.

"You're only-" she had to think for a minute as her head started to swim. "You're only five years apart, right?"

"Almost exactly."

"Why're you not so close?"

"What?"

Mara yawned. "Y'see, me 'n my brothers. Oldes' bro is twenty soon. But we're as close as this." She crossed her fingers clumsily. "Why not you?"

Nathanial shifted beside her and reached to take her glass but she swatted him away in vague annoyance. "I'm not that drunk," she protested a little thickly. Why hadn't they brought a jug of water with them too? But Nathanial was probably better at planning than she was because he pressed a water bottle into her hand, forcing her to put down her glass in order to untwist the cap.

"Because Helene and I weren't raised together," he said matter-of-factly as she swallowed a generous gulp of water.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. He was cupping his own glass in his hands, legs dangling over the edge of the roof. She was sprawled easily across the flat roof.

"Why? Thought you were all friendly in this planet."

He laughed. "Royal family still has traditions," he said, without being mocking. "Part of that is that while females can become rulers in their own rights, if a prince is born, he's automatically the heir."

"That must suck for your sisters," she observed.

"I guess… how did you figure that?"

"Well… they probably were trained to rule before you were born, right? But when you come along… everyone drops everything to focus on you."

"Yes. That's about the long and short of it." He almost sounded a little sad. He finally said, quietly, "Don't get me wrong. I want to rule. I think I can be a good King. In time. But I can't help but- well, just because I was born, I'm instantly the focus of everything. The people- they don't know that. To them, our family's perfectly happy. They were glad that my mother had a safe delivery and had a healthy baby. They don't know how the power shifts so abruptly. We can't let them know that."

"Why not break the tradition?"

He snorted. "We can't all be you," he said and there was definite mocking in his voice.

Her blood ran cold despite the nice warm haze of alcohol and a pleasant evening. She got up, ignoring the sudden fog that dropped into her skull upon that quick shift in position. Shaking it off, she headed to the door that would lead back downstairs without another word, ignoring his protests.

* * *

She woke up with a vaguely throbbing head, the seeds of a hangover, and growled as she gulped down as much water as she could. Fortunately the maids knew that it was better to just leave her the breakfast tray instead of puttering about chattering. So she wolfed down two croissants, filled with butter and jam, and most of the pot of coffee left there, and went down to real breakfast feeling a little bit more human. Likely she was going to continue to have the headache, unless she begged for a hangover cure…

Growling again, she savagely grabbed half the toast waiting for them in their communal dining hall, as well as the first hot rasher of bacon. Even more coffee came her way as she viciously slathered toast with piles of berry jam.

Marcus yawned as he shuffled in and took a plate. "Let me guess, you got in another fight with Nathanial," he said while sleepily taking the rest of the toast. Marcus had an astonishing stomach capacity for someone his size and only W was able to eat more than him in one sitting. This made shared meals interesting.

He was a bit more sedate as he piled his plate with eggs, ham, and half a dozen muffins (to his credit, they were mini-muffins) and began to butter his toast quite placidly. His hair on end, he began to mow his way through the toast, pausing only to take sips of orange juice.

Mara didn't deign to give him a reply as she finished her toast and went through half the bacon. After her sixth cup of coffee for the morning, she said shortly, "Yes."

"I'm surprised you didn't push him off the roof then." By this time, he was on his second plate of eggs.

She actually dropped her fork. "What?"

"You were right above my room," he said, smiling crookedly. "And both of you have carrying voices."

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you." Feeling a little more human (and with the pesky headache starting to fade), she started more sedately on fruit salad.

Marcus buttered half a muffin. "He's not trying to offend you, you know," he said. "He's just trying to make friends with you."

Mara sputtered. "Damn good job he's doing of it!"

Marcus shrugged. "I'm the last to ask about girls and what to do about them," he said unusually bluntly. "He's trying to be friends and failing-rather spectacularly, I may add-because you're probably the first female he's ever tried to be _friends_ with. Not date, not flirt, not court or charm."

"Good to know," Mara muttered as she toyed with the last bite of berry in her salad.

"Not to mention he told me this," Marcus replied casually, licking his fingers clean.

"He did?"

The blonde smiled crookedly again, the exasperated look of an older sibling faced with his trying younger siblings. "Yeah. Or, he talked _at_ me for a while." He raked a hand through his loose curls. "I think people tend to do that with me because I don't talk that much."

"Bishop and Thorne don't talk that much either," she pointed out, though she knew what he meant.

"Bishop's successfully scared the crap out of most of the boys in his year, and most of the school for that matter, because he's just- Bishop. That includes me, too. Thorne isn't the sort of guy you find yourself unexpectedly talking _at_. It's the plants, I think." Marcus got another glass of orange juice, finally slowing down.

"I see," Thorne's quiet reply echoed from the doorway. The slim brunette was dressed in his usual "yoga" outfit of tunic and loose trousers.

"Take a seat, Thorne," Mara said as Marcus flushed unexpectedly and muttered something vaguely apologetic under his breath.

Thorne had a cup of tea and that was it. The atmosphere became incredibly uncomfortable for a moment as Mara became lost in thought in her coffee, Thorne blithely drank his tea, and Marcus boiled in his embarrassment.

Three heads went up when they heard giggling. Extremely feminine giggling. A young woman about their age, with curly blonde hair and a once-neat uniform, headed out past them. Gregori joined them, his hair disheveled. Mara didn't want to know if that was lipstick on his collar. And that odd spot- that was just a shadow.

Two pairs of eyes studiously avoided Gregori's. Thorne blithely said, "Good morning." Mara and Marcus thought it best to make a hasty retreat.

Nathanial apologized later that day after lunch. "It was the alcohol," he said.

She met his eyes squarely and said, "No it wasn't. I've seen you put away more. But I accept your apology." And she let it go and had a little vindictive satisfaction at seeing him flinch.

That being said, they were still rather pointedly polite with each other during the Miss Magix competition. It was held in the town, in one of the fine theaters, complete with gilt and red velvet private boxes for those willing to pay. There were some perks to royalty, Mara admitted, as they were able to go through the back entrance to the prime seats in the house, with drinks and little treats awaiting them. Helene was stunning in icy blue silk that set off her tawny skin and white hair, with a silver tiara delicately set upon her head. As the contest started, with the contestants in rather skimpy pink dresses and ankle-achingly high platforms, Mara toyed with her drink, disinterested for the most part, while the boys by her tried to keep their eyes in their heads. Even Thorne was showing interest, then again, a girl from his general area was entered so perhaps it was a matter of pride more than admiration.

It was a typical beauty competition then, she decided, though she would never have expected to see any of these sorts of women on Earth. Despite the emphasis on "natural" beauty, all of the contestants had an ethereal loveliness that never occurred from her home planet. It was just the slightest bit intimidating, really. If this was "natural," what were the limits? That was a disquieting thought as Mara found herself finding having one more drink than she normally would. The boys didn't notice, particularly considering the very pretty, Venus-like Princess of Solaria was on stage doing a pop routine that seemed to involve wiggling her hips quite often, causing the beaded fringe of her rather short dress to swing back and forth in a fascinating manner.

Helene presented the winner with a bouquet of silver roses, being a past winner as well as the hosting planet's princess. It was with this that a number of girls, including some contestants, realized that the "Honorable" Prince Nathanial was present. It wasn't pretty.

…

"Damn your pheromones," Mara growled uncharitably.

She was limping as the group walked into the common room of their suite; fat lot of good reflexes did when you were crowded in and a dozen pairs of very dangerous stiletto heels were coming at you. Marcus looked rather irritated, his long hair disheveled. Gregori was still laughing his idiot head off and Thorne looked faintly exasperated but mostly tired, with the slightest bit of emotional strain in his green eyes (claustrophobia from the press of girls).

Nathanial wasn't so much as ruffled, though his shirt collar was loose and he had lost a button somewhere.

"What can I say? I make my appearances every so often but since I started school…" He made a show of shrugging expansively.

Mara contemplated the merits of throwing her glass of mint tea at him and gave up the ghost. She grumbled under her breath and muttered a few choice curses at him. "I'm going to bed," she snapped. "Where I can get some actual sanity." And she stalked off.

She had a fairly good night's sleep except before dawn. In a state near waking but not full coherence, she turned over with her half-closed eyes looking towards the window. Muzzy, she squinted in an attempt to both get back to sleep and focus on whatever she thought she'd seen. She thought she saw the outline of wings that were the cerulean blue of tropical oceans but even clearer. Against the golden light of a rising sun, black hair glowed richly. She thought she smelled ocean water and yet the salt smell was mingled with something coldly sharp and metallic. Someone was singing, sweet and unclear, and Mara felt her body shiver all over in recognition of _something_ that she had long forgotten but had never lost. And yet- she resisted and clapped her hands over her ears, refusing to listen, refusing to look.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Well, this was actually a harder chapter to write than I thought it would be! I was figuring to write a fairly straight forward vacation chapter with an !Endearing team moment with Nathanial and Mara by the end but things ended up differently.

The unholy duo don't like being pushed together, I'll tell you that, which is why you get gems of conversation that nearly gets Nat thrown off roofs. And yes, I think it's very plausible for a boy like him to be incredibly awkward around female _friendships_. He's remarkably good at charming members of the opposite sex but he's awful at just being nice to them, as the now rather wry Marcus likes to point out. Oh yes, and Marcus is very good at observing human behavior as well as being the Dashboard Confessional (probably because he really is as nice and unassuming as he looks… unless you piss him off, but isn't that with nearly anyone?). He's just awful at actually interacting with anything with two X chromosomes (and those without as well…).

Thorne was an oddball this chapter. He likes to annoy me now so I'm retaliating by making him the squad crazy (then again, considering what's happened to him, can you blame him? He's the piss boy of the entire series, I'm starting to think.). Don't expect this to end any time soon.

I also didn't intend on having the boys'… nightly activities so open but I couldn't resist. It's up to you whether Gregori -err… went all the way or just had some PG fun. Come on, they're sixteen-year-old princes and nobles; they're going to have _some_ sort of experience sooner or later…

Extra note: In early drafts, I'd intended on Mara being put into the Miss Magix contest. Upon closer and closer approach to this particular chapter, I realized just how absurd it was.

And now… a brief meeting with some fans favorites:

Bishop looks displeased, his arms crossed while he sits in a leather chair. W is sprawled on a sofa. Marlow saunters into the room that exists nowhere, wearing wizard robes and a big pointy hat.

W gives the wizard a cynical look. "Right."

Marlow ignores him and waves to the fans, smiling blithely. "Hi. I'm Marlow. The author intended me to be a one-shot character but fan reception was so good that she's having me back sometime in the future." He pauses and looks around, taking off his giant hat. "Technically, she made a family tree to clarify things but it would be somewhat spoiler filled. So for the moment… I'm Chaucer's half-brother and about thirteen years older than him, give or take a few years."

"Are you going to keep talking about yourself?" W asks in boredom.

"Of course. They all like me the most."

"Actually, you three are the dark horses in the popularity contest," the author says, walking in and sniffling.

"Which means she never intended for us to be this popular," Bishop says in a monotone.

"Precisely!" She beams at him and he ignores her, getting tea.

"What? What's wrong with me? I'm strong. I've got the badass goatee. What's wrong with that?" W demands.

"The greasy hair is a bit of a turnoff," Marlow points out.

"As though you're that much cleaner," W snarls.

The author ducks as a magic bolt shoots overhead. "Dammit! Break it up, you two!" She ends up diving behind Bishop's chair. Bishop is hunkered down already, hands wrapped around his precious tea. He offers her a faint smile and a sip as she starts coughing.

"Yeah. While Marlow and W get over their creative differences and/or end up shagging each other…" the author says, grimacing. She takes another long drink of tea, wincing as a there's a giant _whoosh_ sound that reminds one of a thousand candles being blown out at once. Something was burning, definitely.

"I want to know: Readers, who is YOUR favorite character and why? Let me know who you like and write a little bit about what you like about them. Psst, if you write a pretty nice spiel, I may end up giving you a special prize! So hop to it!"


	23. Chapter 22: Down the Rabbit Hole

**Chapter Twenty-two: Down the Rabbit Hole**

Spring break wound to a close and Mara found herself exhaling in something like relief. Perhaps it was because the last two times she'd visited other planets, she'd been faced with amending problems that she wasn't quite sure she had any business with. She and Nathanial had made their peace and she grudgingly admitted that she'd been rather- touchy when they'd been drinking. He'd of course had only smiled at her, making her briefly reconsider taking back that apology.

When the squad got back, they had to buckle down for finals, even though finals were technically coming up in about three weeks. The teachers were merciless at this point, not that any of the students were any less hard on themselves (most of them anyways). Passing these finals meant possibly advancing into the more "fun" classes and many a Red Fountain student detested Etiquette classes the most, though History was a close runner-up. Mara didn't see much of Bishop and W either and the few times she saw them, they were silent and grim.

Bishop and W were more exceptions than the rule for their year, on the other hand. She knew that Bishop took his schooling seriously and W, despite his flippant treatment and general distaste of his essays, was just as focused (though not nearly as successful, at least academically). Then again, both of them were training in weaponry that required the extra training just to keep up with the rest of their peers. In the meantime, Mara, as the much put-upon freshman, found herself zipping from class to class once more, from history to etiquette to general training to magic.

By this point, the hazing was limited to cold shoulders and occasional shoves/trips, which were easily avoided. She made a point of locking her things, both with physical locks and magical locks (her grimoire was very good at providing a decent lock spell). Gabriel wasn't even up to his old tricks; she hadn't seen an unflattering cartoon plastered all over the common areas for weeks now.

Mara tried to get over the disturbing things she'd seen. The image of a fairy, her dream that one early morning- all of them were figments of her imagination, really, she tried to tell herself. She'd been drinking quite liberally most of this vacation and so that could have something to do with it. Yeah, the alcohol…

Oddly enough, it was her Magic instructor who finally took her aside about that matter.

Her magic classes were only once a week, surprisingly enough, with the emphasis on teaching basic controls. Spells were a way to tap excess energy but they were warned that Red Fountain had excellent magic detection fields and should they abuse their powers, punishment would be swift and harsh. Lock spells and little things like that were fine, so far that Mara hadn't been hauled to Saladin's office by her ear, anyways.

The basic Magic instructor was a rather colorless man despite the little details that should have made him stand out. His hair was always kept in a narrow braid that reached his waist but was an odd shade of ash-blonde that looked gray or pale brown, depending on the light. His eyes were also odd depending on the light, sometimes gleaming silver but for the most part, remaining a flat gray. He always spoke quietly but with little emotion, always professionally analytical in his criticisms. While Professor Nion wasn't as feared as Chaucer, he certainly wasn't liked by his students, barely given grudging respect. As it were, Mara found it a little hard to respect him too, even with the mudspell incident.

Their final was going to be a basic exercise in control, pass or fail, he told them. "What matters is getting good grounding. Otherwise, you will not be able to contain your magic, much less attempt the greater spells."

After their lesson, the class filed out but the professor held her back.

"Yes, professor?" she asked a bit warily.

"I know you are going to pass my final easily," he said after a moment. He put on a pair of glasses that he kept somewhere in his desk. The lenses made his eyes wider and yet more inscrutable. "But there is the matter of your natural abilities."

Mara swallowed hard. "Yes, sir?" she replied as lightly as she could.

He gazed at her intently. "You are not going to be able to do more difficult spells unless you allow that aspect of you to come out," he told her flatly.

"I don't care," she replied just as flatly.

He exhaled softly, closing his eyes. "It is not merely about conveniences and ambition," he informed her, deadpan. "If you insist on refusing to let the change come, you can quite possibly do irreparable harm to your magical channels. At best, you will no longer have _any_ magic at all. At worst, the pressure and the pain that will inevitably come from it will drive you insane."

"I'd rather have it taken then," she whispered.

He looked at her after opening her eyes. "Excising magic is extremely difficult," he said, voice chilling. "Even when done with the… subject's consent, it is incredibly uncomfortable." He softened his tone, very slightly, and some concern filled his normally impassive eyes. "Frey, you are denying an integral part of yourself. Not just mentally but physically. You are going to make yourself ill."

"I'm fine, professor," she said stiffly.

He stared her down but she refused to look away from his flinty stare. "Alfea is not your only course," he said abruptly.

"What?"

"Alfea wants you but that is hardly the only academy for magical instruction. There are multiple institutions that are often tailored for unconventional students."

"Thank you, but no thank you." Her lips tightened.

His lips tightened as well and his eyes were starting to darken. "You are being insufferably stubborn, girl," he hissed, a crack in his normally unflappable visage. Now that temper of his was starting to ooze out and flare to life.

"Why is it such a concern to you?" she asked recklessly.

"As a magician, I'm required to rein in wild powers," he snapped back at her. "Doubly so as a teacher. I also will not stand by to see a young idiot harm herself at the expense of others' health as well!" His eyes blazed silver, suddenly, and she was afraid for a single moment. All of her senses screamed.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Those who have their magic thus pressured and released unexpectedly will not only experience madness, if they are not killed instantly," he said tartly. "But they will quite possibly demolish a good portion of wherever they are, depending on their own natural ability. Should you not magically destroy your surroundings, you could quite possibly hurt or even kill others because the rapid departure of your sanity." His silver eyes blazed still and she felt a shiver down her spine.

"Is there any way to- safely release it?" she asked.

"Let it go," he told her bluntly. "Just let it come to you and don't resist. Resistance is all good but would you like to be battered because of your stubborn pride?"

"I don't want to be a fairy," she told him fiercely.

"You are a disgustingly stubborn girl. You'd almost be a boy because of that arrogance of yours," he replied flatly. Nothing tempered that statement, and even though his eyes faded in color back to their usual dark gray, they still stared into her with something like distaste.

"Am I dismissed?" she asked, stiffly.

He waved his hand. "Go. Leave my sight before I slap you," he said but his voice had no real heat, only a flatness that seemed all the worse as she all but ran out of the room.

* * *

She couldn't go to Gareth. Not this time.

There are times when it is impossible to go to the ones you like and trust the most of all. Maybe it's from pride. Maybe it's from shame.

So she went to Domino.

Bishop gave her a ride that weekend, even though they rightly should have been studying. He said that he had errands to run in Magix but somehow, she knew that he was doing her a favor. She didn't know whether to be grateful or embarrassed. He dropped her off at one of the ice cream parlors and favored her with a long, measuring violet-gray gaze. She managed a faint sort of smile for him and waved him off, to his silent disapproval. He glowered at her for a moment before lowering the visor of his helmet. His bike disappeared into the streets and she turned around to head into the store. She bought a quart of Mocha Raspberry Foam and went to the alley where Domino's shop-lair was.

Almost as soon as she pushed the rusted button for the door buzzer, the man in question opened the door. He was dressed in a comfortable looking pearl gray turtleneck, black slacks, and a pristine white lab coat. His hair still hung straight to his waist but it was clean for once, without a hint of being left unwashed just a little too long.

"Come in," he rasped with a faint smile.

Mara remembered the oft-recited line of the spider and the fly as she entered the dimly-lit main chamber of organic computer consoles. Domino took the ice ream for her and put it away before offering her tea. She accepted a bit nervously and he soon pushed a thick blue ceramic mug into her hands. It was painted with lavender leaves. She stared at the odd pattern.

"Drink up," he told her. "It's no good cold."

Instantly, she tried a little. The tea had an odd flavor and she couldn't make up her mind whether to retch it back up or to have another sip. He took back the mug, correctly assessing her conflicted expression as he stirred some honey into the tea.

"I take it that this isn't a social call?" he asked with surprising mildness as she sipped warily. The honey definitely helped.

"No," she finally admitted, unable to meet his eyes. The steam curling from the mug smelled very bitter and yet it was a smell that was vaguely familiar. She just couldn't put her finger on where she'd once smelled it. He got the full story from her in a monotonous, steady stream.

After digesting the information with no emotion whatsoever, he asked, "Gareth didn't teach you about me, did he?"

"I know you have a price," she said warily.

"Of course. But- it changes. What do you want?" His hooded eyes bored into hers, skewering her. She knew now how a mouse felt when trapped by a cat, or a rabbit with a hawk. The air around the room grew disturbingly heavy and the bitterness of the steam gathered at the back of her mouth.

"I want…" She hesitated. What _did_ she want? Something warned her that she would have to choose her words extremely carefully. Finally, she said, quietly, "I want the presence and the pressure to stop. Just those."

"Hmm…" Domino wore an interesting expression as he gazed at her and she wondered fleetingly if she made the wrong wording. He got up. "Com with me."

He took her to a room she'd never seen before. It was surprisingly elegant, though sparsely furnished, with a soft red and gold Oriental-style rug on the floor, cream-and-ivory wallpaper patterned with what looked like scrollwork curliques, and a mahogany door on the opposite end which looked faintly ominous.

"Take a look through the door," he said with a crocodile's deceptively sweet smile. "You'll get what you need."

Mara's instincts weren't pleased by any means but she found herself heading across the room. Did it just get a lot warmer than it should have? With trepidation, she reached for the door's handle, which was filigree brass. The detailing seemed to bite into her palm and fingers like little claws and teeth as she turned the handle. She found herself looking into a dark room, which was about the size of a decent closet. In the shadows, she could make out the shape of a mirror, which glimmered in the scant rays of light that slipped in through the door. She took one step into the closet, intrigued despite herself. As soon as she was in, the door slammed shut behind her.

She stared at it.

"Domino, you bastard!"

* * *

Domino leaned back in his ergonomically comfortable leather chair and coughed pointedly. His previously unseen first visitor ignored him and continued to puff away on his foul-smelling longstem pipe. The pied-haired man's gaze turned jaundiced.

"I'm surprised she came to you," Marlow Wallbreaker said in tones of great contemplation. The wizard was dressed in his usual mix of dark and faded brown, and his gray cloak hung over the back of his chair. The hem of the cloak was suspiciously stiffened and dark-stained.

"You don't know her as well as you like," Domino retorted a little smugly. "She would never look to Gareth or any other mentor in her life for this. She's ashamed."

Marlow took a long drink of tea in the middle of a puff, sending acrid rubber-scented smoke to poison the already stale air of Domino's chambers. "Pity," he remarked.

"I know you're eyeing her." Domino smiled thinly and this expression had absolutely no mirth. "Care for a little help?" This was delivered in tones of utter dulcet, edged in finest, coldest steel.

The wizard-for-hire snorted derisively. "Never."

"Why are you fascinated with her anyways?" the computer wizard asked, voice mild but still with venom lingering at the fringes.

"I like odd things," Marlow said simply but his eyes glittered another story.

"Don't you dare court her for your Bloody Brethren," Domino snapped coldly. "I have other plans for her."

"Like a spider in his web?" It was Marlow's turn to deliver a mirthless smile. "I think that Miss Frey will quite enjoy seeing the world in flames. It's better than watching the decaying of the walls."

"Decay has its aesthetic value," Domino replied with a velvet-covered rasp. His eyes glinted in the dim light.

The two men contemplated each other for the rest of the time in silence.

* * *

Mara spent some time shrieking her displeasure with the foulest of language she'd picked up since coming to Red Fountain (and it was considerable). Once she was hoarse, she devoted her resources to searching around the closet.

The room was somehow lit softly by an unknown source of illumination. She warily approached the mirror. Professor Nion hadn't expanded much on the magical property of mirrors, only repeating what she'd already found out. To be frank, Domino had given her a better tutorial about mirrors and magic.

The mirror had an elaborate gold frame molded in the suggestion of ocean waves and seashells. She thought she could see women with fishtails dancing in the waves, their blank eyes gazing at nothing in particular as they tossed their hair back coquettishly. Walking around the mirror, she examined the back but found nothing. She faced the front and her own reflection. Then she noticed something odd. The glass seemed to _move_. It was rather like water; as she moved close to it, the glass rippled very gently.

By this time, Mara had read enough books and seen enough movies to know not to touch something. It could end up messy. She stared at her reflection, seeing the dark circles under her eyes for seemingly the first time as well as the vaguely haunted look that lingered on her face. Then her reflection smirked at her. Instantly, Mara lifted a hand to her lips, trying to see if she had reflexively done so. Her reflection laughed at her silently.

_You are a fool, Mara Frey._ Something slick and cool grabbed her wrist and soon she was falling into an empty space, her mouth open in a perpetually unheard scream.

_You are…?_

_What am I?_

_A fairy?_

_No- I'm not a fairy._

_What are you?_

_I'm… nothing._

Mara opened her eyes slowly. She was floating in an ocean of warm water. Sunlight danced through the gently moving waves above her and made the water glow cerulean. Breathing was no trouble as she comfortably let herself be carried here and there by the ocean currents.

"Well then."

She turned around in surprise, to see a very prim and proper stranger staring at her. A very naked stranger. She yelped and averted her eyes, blushing furiously. Though she was no stranger to naked boys (three brothers, do the math), she wasn't used to seeing a very much mature man wearing nothing but brazen confidence.

He laughed at her and his amusement reverberated in the waters. "Good gods, so you're a prude." His white hair danced about like tentacles in the currents.

"Don't- stand like that," she snapped defensively. "It's not right." She managed to sneak a glance back at him, staring pointedly at his face. Something was familiar about him…

"Gareth?" she managed to say, goggling.

"Of a sort," the very much altered Gareth replied.

White hair suited him, she thought faintly. He didn't look the least bit feminine though if he were out of water, his newly bleached hair would have reached the small of his back easily. Perhaps it was a trick of the light or because of his hair, but his eyes seemed brighter, the brown touched with gold and copper.

"Besides, it's not as though I'm the only one like this," he mentioned casually, giving her a pointed look.

She looked down and yelped again. She was just as naked as he was. Blushing beet red, she momentarily tried to cover herself with her hands but eventually gave up the ghost. "Don't- look," she snapped at him.

He favored her with another pointed look, right in the eyes. Once she'd calmed down a little, she looked around and asked, "What is this?"

"The unconscious," he replied promptly.

If Mara was a bit more well-read, she would have seen the Freudian imagery. But as it were, she wasn't fond of psychology and was already with vaguely frazzled nerves about being naked in an ocean with her equally naked mentor.

"And why?" she asked.

"It's all metaphorical," he said, waving a hand vaguely. "You're at the first stage but you're going to have to go a little bit deeper."

"What?"

He paused and said, after a sigh, "I'm not really Gareth. Your mind chose Gareth as a figure of manifestation because you recognize him as a knowledgeable person in your life."

"And the white hair?"

He grinned, looking exactly like her mentor. "It makes me look wiser." He drew a bit closer to her. "You've already had all the answers. You're going to have to make a choice. Once you've made it, you can never go back."

"If you're talking about the fairy side, I've already-"

"Gareth" gave her a disapproving look. "Suppression isn't a choice."

"Why does this have to be more complicated?" she wailed finally, growing to a breaking point.

"Self-denial is never an easy thing," he said bluntly. Then he shrugged. "I can't give you the answers right away. You're going to have to figure this out for yourself." He leaned in and stared right into her eyes, their noses almost touching.

"You're too stubborn for your own good," he said, softly. Then he smiled slightly. "But maybe that's what works for you." And he pushed her backwards and she saw the waters grow darker and darker until she couldn't see anything or make sense of anything at all.

She woke up again in darkness, with only the mirror she had fallen into for company. This time, she was dressed, in something black and very dark blue and somewhat masculine. She glared at her reflection and to her horror, she watched her clothing change. The black became white, the blue became a brilliant ruby. Stern lines softened and became flowing curlicues and arabesques. Her hair became much longer and gleamed blue-black, instead of her usual flat black that convinced so many people that she dyed her hair…

However, when she looked down again, her clothing was still that oddly masculine costume. When she looked up, she was face to face with the living reflection.

The living reflection was a parody of her, she decided instantly. Mara had long ago realized that she was never going to be a pretty woman, nowhere near as pretty as her mother or her aunts. The reflection was pretty but not handsome, a teenage beauty on glossy magazines and television shows. Her pride was her long black hair, though she had wide black eyes with extravagant lashes and just a hint of almond-shape that lent her an exotic air. She had an adorable face, with appropriately cute dimples that spotted her still slightly plump cheeks. And the eyes were lively but ultimately… Well, those eyes were ultimately more vacant than comfortable.

The fairy Mara contemplated her dark, masculine double and frowned. "Red isn't a bad color," she noted.

"I prefer blue," the real Mara said harshly, determined to hate this girl. Nonetheless, she found her heart softening, but not in acceptance. It was more like… pity.

The fairy then said, shyly, "Well, we can work with that. I'm sure we can."

"No. Because I don't want to become you," Mara told her bluntly. She knew what game the fairy was trying to play and she detested those games.

The fairy played dumb. "Color changes aren't that hard," she prattled.

Mara was about to raise her hand to strike her across the face but something stopped her. The blue of her costume was pulsating slowly and becoming stained, to more black, but it was a rusty black, a pathetic black. She then took a deep breath to calm herself.

"No," she said softly. "I'm not going to be a plaything for Destiny. I'm not going to become you."

"Why?" the fairy demanded, voice with a vaguely hysterical edge. "Why? Why do you hate me so much?"

"You're not real," Mara told her quietly. Understanding was starting to color the edges of her thoughts. "Maybe if I was younger…" But that was a lie. "You're a long dead possibility."

"You dreamed of being a princess once, didn't you?" the fairy demanded with triumph. "I can make that happen. Accept me."

Mara felt a flash of pain fill her, rocking her body with surprising strength despite its age. "That is a long ago time," she said levelly. "I gave up on it."

"You never did!" the fairy protested. "That's why I'm alive."

"I don't know why you're alive. But I burned the bridges a long time ago. I can't make them come up again." Mara's lips turned upwards in a sad, thin smile. "I realized that princesses are pretty. Pretty but… without depth. Like dolls or flowers."

"I can make you pretty, I promise! You will be beautiful!"

"Even then. I don't want that sort of life. I don't want to be the one rescued every time. I want to rescue myself. I want to rescue others."

"If you kill me, you'll lose yourself," the fairy warned, now crying. Even her tears were beautiful; Mara never cried without becoming blotchy and having a runny nose.

"That tactic never worked on me," Mara said simply. The black was shifting too, with white entering the hems of her clothing. But the lines of her costume never really changed, remaining masculine and practical.

"You don't understand. I don't want to die. I'm supposed to be ascendant. You'll be much happier. This is the easiest way," the fairy wept.

"You're not making much sense," Mara tried to point out sensibly. But she extended a hand gently. "This all doesn't make sense at all. It's Wonderland in here, isn't it?"

The fairy looked at the hand in anticipation. "So- you'll accept me?" she quavered.

"No," Mara said, simply. "I don't want you to die but it doesn't mean I'll embrace you." She managed a real smile this time. "I'm an idiot. I don't want the easiest path. I don't want the rose-colored glasses that will make me like you, able to be happy with the simplest things."

The fairy latched on with a laugh of triumph. "But you extended your hand to me! You've accepted your destiny here!"

Mara felt the change come over her and she was frightened, truly scared, for a few moments. There was music and ocean waves filling her senses. The songs were entrancing, promising so much to her, she just needed to accept it, to embrace it all. They promised to serve her, to change her, to give her the strength she always wanted… better yet, the fairy tale endings and charmed lives she'd dreamed about as a little, naïve girl. But a quiet, firm little voice replied, _No._ Then the music became more manic, more insistent, giving her frail but impossibly lovely images. A castle. A crown. A white knight…

Most insidiously, wings.

Flight, being able to go across the sky with the ease only fairies could manage. It was the most tempting of the things they offered her.

But she couldn't take it.

"No," she told the change. And she changed it instead.

The fairy's frightened face appeared before her, fighting to get out of their clasped hands. "No! Don't do this!" she pleaded. "Please- I don't want to die!"

"It's not death," Mara told her, with true compassion that she never thought she would ever muster. "It's just a long-needed change." And she smiled kindly.

The fairy shrieked but the screams were not of pain. There was pain, yes, but it was only because the reflection was fighting. The transformation came slowly and soon gained momentum, like flame engulfing a crumpled ball of paper. A woman, a true woman, faced Mara this time.

Her face was ageless, both old and wise and young and enthusiastic. She was dressed in an odd mixture of clothing. A black and white body suit covered by a comfortable soft-red hooded robe lined in sapphire blue. The effect should have been garish, but it worked. She smiled at Mara. "So you'll embrace me?" she asked with a refined manner that made Mara chuckle a little in mild consternation.

"Of course," Mara said. "But I'd rather just have you by my side."

The lady bowed deeply. "Of course."

Wistfully, Mara remarked, "I hope I can live up to something like you."

The lady laughed, a sound that invited the listener to join in and hardly feel offended. "You'll manage, I'm sure. You'll manage very well. In fact, I think you'll soar."

And Mara took the lady's hand.

* * *

Mara emerged from the room with red-rimmed eyes and bones that ached. Her hands throbbed, particularly the scar that Madame Ruri had inflicted on her half a lifetime ago. She was also drenched with sweat and filthy from the dust of the room.

Domino was waiting with a very large mug of hot chocolate and a terry cloth robe. "Finish this and there's a bathroom right over there," he said with uncharacteristic matter-of-factness.

Mara took the hot chocolate and sipped it gingerly, vaguely surprised to taste the sharp tang of brandy. "Thank you," she managed to croak quietly.

He smiled thinly. "It is my job, Specialist Frey." He reached out and suddenly grasped some of her hair and pulled sharply. "Yowch!" Tears sprang to her eyes instantly and she glared at him.

"Your price," he said brusquely, making the stolen lock of hair vanish somewhere on his person. "Your ride will be coming around for you in an hour. Get cleaned up before then while I clean your clothes."

Mara grumbled at him, rubbing at the spot on her head from which he'd yanked the hair. He'd grabbed several strands at once, which accounted for the pain. Still annoyed but vaguely relieved that it wasn't much worse than that, she headed to the indicated bathroom. To her relief, it wasn't as dirty or antiquated as the rest of his office. In fact, it was positively modern, all white tile and shining chrome. Filling the bath, she finished her hot chocolate and set the robe on a hook, before stripping off her clothes and gingerly placing them in an indicated chute. Before the bath filled, she caught a look of herself in the mirror. Nothing much had changed, to her vague disappointment. But she looked less haunted. Definitely a lot more tired but less strained. In face, she felt suddenly lighter than air.

She took her bath in content contemplation, using the lavender scented soap bubbles and shampoo in massive quantities. Bubble baths were fun in their own way for her and she watched the foam pile up in fluffy mountains of pale blue and violet, which made her chuckle.

Once her muscles had relaxed and her bones no longer ached so fiercely, she rinsed off and got out of the tub, putting on the robe. Another convenient chute had opened and a small tray of chocolates and a cup of orange juice waited on the counter. She had only just swallowed the last of the orange juice and nibbled on her third chocolate before her battered jeans and plain t-shirt arrived, folded and smelling of fresh ironing. Feeling pleasantly pampered (she could be a hedonist at the oddest of times), she got dressed and headed out after a quick run through of the very convenient vent of hot air that dried most of her hair.

Domino was in a chair in front of one of the computer consoles, furiously typing away. The screen was filled with odd characters in four different colors and he seemed lost in thought.

"He's just outside," he said to her as she went past.

"…Thanks," she said awkwardly.

He had no reply but waved her out irritably. She exited, feeling that she had overstayed her welcome.

True to word, Bishop was by the ice cream parlor. He was eating Chocolate Almond-Cherry and somehow looking extremely cool while doing so. As she approached, he waved her over vaguely.

"Everything done?" she asked.

He nodded and arched an eyebrow at her, returning the question. "Yeah," she said, finding herself smiling. "Everything's done."

* * *

Gratuitous Author Babble (GAB):

I'm really, really surprised that the teachers in Alfea don't freaking teach the girls better combat skills. I was watching Bloom's battle with Baltor and- I just gotta shake my head and sigh. Sort of enjoy the world but hate the characters. Bloom is a hotheaded, naïve idiot. The only one I can remotely tolerate is probably Tecna (though she's sometimes so 2-D, she can turn sideways and disappear). Layla has her charms too…

It doesn't stop me from liking the looks of some of the outfits, on the other hand.

Speaking of Layla, I've been getting bitched at for "spelling her name wrong" in one of my other stories (I don't need to tell you the title; you can find it yourself). I hope that the diehard fans who bitch to me realize that Layla/Leila isn't even her actual name in the show; her original name was Aisha. I can't help but sigh.

Last note, I'm a foulmouthed individual in actuality; I've just toned down the language in this particular story and the author's notes. But, this will not always be the case. I apologize if I offend the sensibilities of my readers.

Marlow: Yeah right.


	24. Chapter 23: Countdown for a Showdown

**Disclaimer:** Even after several years, I STILL don't own Winx Club, the characters who appear in the animated series whether in design or presence, and the concepts therein.

**

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three: Countdown for a Showdown

* * *

**

Bishop didn't say much for the rest of the trip back to school. But once they got back in, he turned to her and offered her a thin smile. "You seem a bit better now," he remarked wryly. "Less twitchy."

She blinked at him. "Thanks?" she hazarded. One never knew whether Bishop was offering a compliment or not, not that he made a point of insulting people on a regular basis.

He flicked her between the eyes. "…take better care of yourself."

She winced and rubbed at the spot, though she instantly knew that this was the older boy's way of saying he was worried. It was rather endearing. "Right," she said with a smile of her own.

He escorted her to her room and she "tipped" him with a full bag of almond M&M's, which he took and placed rather possessively in his jacket pocket. It took quite a bit of self-control not to laugh in his face before he turned around and left without another word; he had his exams to study for after all.

As for herself, she kept studying as well, haunting the library and study rooms with brow furrowed. She wasn't as far behind as one would think; in fact, she kept more on top of her academics than most of her classmates. While she wasn't always on the top scores (because there were some infuriating geniuses here who could pass a test after reading over the material once), she never really failed either (not like Gregori, who always had to do make up tests and work on top of his procrastination). Nonetheless, she sequestered herself in the library to study. It was to her extreme distaste that she encountered a particular prince once she exited the library after an extremely grueling session.

She nodded to him, not offering him even a spoken greeting. This would have made Gareth smack her across the back of the head. "Politeness is for everyone, even your worst enemies. No- _especially_ for your enemies," he would say.

"Because it annoys them so much?" she would generally reply dryly.

"Well, yes."

Gabriel had reduced himself to petty, pointed comments here and there. Mostly remarks spoken just loud enough to be overheard as she passed by, debating her sexuality, her intelligence, her competence… quite frankly anything that could be thrown at a female. Most of them were easy to ignore. She'd had a harder time ignoring the remarks made about her friends (as cliché as that sentiment seemed). Still, a few stern words from Gareth had given her enough motivation to ignore those statements. Codatorta knew nothing funny was going on, as did her professors, and that was far more important. Well, except for the school board finding out, she supposed. But she hadn't been hauled out in front of a tribunal so she figured she was safe in that respect.

Her classmate remained icily beautiful as usual, able to match Nathanial in physical attractiveness. Nonetheless, the coldness in his eyes never ceased to repel her, even if she had thought well of him initially. Still, it never boded well to feel frumpy in front of a- Was he an enemy?

"Frey," he said, almost cordially.

She smiled thinly. "Hello," she returned, nodding to him.

"If I may have a word?" He was being far too formal with her, even though his mismatched eyes hadn't lost any of their disdain.

"Or two," she replied and he smiled faintly in acknowledgement of the joke, even if the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Gabriel made a slightly mocking bow, indicating a private area for them to talk in: one of the little balconies that seemed to exist for no apparent reason except for appearances. Not particularly private but a little set away from the hubbub and from casual passerby. Besides, she didn't have that much to lose in being caught talking with him (even though he had with her, at least socially); the only privacy they had were a set of translucent curtains and glass doors, which were left open.

"I know that we started out upon… a wrong foot," the boy said, looking out at the forest surrounding Red Fountain.

'_That was the largest understatement of the year,'_ she thought with no little irony. But she nodded, having nothing to contribute.

"From what I hear, you're almost wasted on this sort of school," he continued, only looking at her sideways, using his black eye to look at her.

"Oh?" she inquired, a bit of frost in her voice. She normally would not have been determined to dislike him and take offense at his words, but dealing with several months of his stunts and snark had worn on her sometimes very thin temper. It wasn't hatred, she had realized, but it was an active dislike painted with some experiences of less than favorable specimens of the male gender… She didn't bother thinking about it too much.

He lifted his hands slightly in an attempt at defense, face a picture of innocent bemusement. "Please don't take it that way. It's just that- you're far too intelligent to be a warrior, I believe."

"Right." Flatly, she then said, "Please get to whatever point you want to make. Without the pretty words."

Surprisingly, his face did not twist or contort or otherwise display a single iota of emotion. "Perhaps you should transfer, Frey. Instead of getting failed on the final exam and give no prospects whatsoever."

"Let me guess, your father or your uncle is on the grading committee," she replied dryly. "Or some other relative or relation."

"No. But even if you do pass, it can be contested." His smile was vicious, a sudden, lightning-quick crescent of white that was positively unreal. "Do remember that."

She turned and left without another word. His stare caused the skin between her shoulderblades to tighten and itch. Mara walked deliberately, neither too slow nor too fast, and her hands remained at a very, very careful distance away from the hilts of her sword and knife.

As far as warnings and threats went, his fell short. It wasn't like him to say something like that. So she kept an eye on her belongings and her surroundings, making sure that none of her books or homework were tampered with or stolen. He left her alone for those few days until finals and she all but forgot everything he'd ever said.

The academic based finals flew past like her midterms. Everyone went out of the testing rooms drained and pale and some even whimpering. Luckily, no psychotic breakdowns this time; it had taken hours to unhook some students from their death grips on desk legs. Even Nathanial, who had a touch of a cavalier attitude towards tests, came out worrying about a question he had to rush (Mara didn't precisely slap him but she gave him a light thwap across the back of the head when he kept on arguing over the finer points of Ghislain's Rebellion over dinner; she considered it a civic duty and a service in the name of Saving His Ass).

The final test was random-generated combat, the ultimate of nerve-wracking finals. Generations of students attempted to figure out the patterns but none had availed. Students underwent two or three rounds of combat at various times, with their chosen weapons, in different fields and conditions. One could end up having a one on one classical duel in a typical duelist's chamber the morning, a three on three melee in the afternoon.

The combat assignments were delivered to each student's door, in special capsules that only unlocked to a particular touch and voice. Mara found two waiting. The capsules looked like ornate gold and red eggs patterned with the Red Fountain crest. They settled heavily into her palm.

"Mara Frey," she said and with a hiss of releasing compressed air, both capsules opened.

Within each capsule was a piece of stiff paper, printed with gleaming dark red ink. The first paper read, "Tuesday, 1200, Melee, Magical Assistance allowed."

The second piece read, "Friday, 0800, Classical Duel, Prince Gabriel of Tempestre, Magical Assistance Allowed."

* * *

GAB:

Life has been a pain and motivation is a rare commodity… and it's taken me years to pick this up, the idiot and lazy ass that I am. Unlike Mara, I have a somewhat worse work ethic and no ambition whatsoever. But I promise that the end is nigh! Or maybe that's not necessarily a good thing. I really will end up putting up a rewrite of this fiction while possibly writing a sequel. These are tentative plans so please don't put any money or hope or dreams on it. All of my readers have been awesome and encouraging, and even offered insights into my own characters that I didn't realize. I'm thrilled and humbled at the compliments and remarks, and I look back at this to remind myself how much I've changed as a writer, as I've grown up and as I've continued writing.

Mara is a part of my past but I can't let her go just yet. It's not fair to her or to all of you who have stayed with me this long. So at least this particular story will end. I'm uneasy about it because I write attempting to recreate who I was as an adolescent, trying to remember the worries and fears and quirks I poured into a character. I warn you; the style _will_ be different.

Some extras written some time ago, before I wind things up:

1. Feel free to ask me any particular questions or even direct them towards the characters (and I'll have them answer them in the last chapters). Ask them their favorite colors, their hopes and fears, their dating preferences, boxers or briefs… -goes running out of the room before getting beaned by an assortment of shoes and other missiles-

2. Theme songs for the characters (not to be taken seriously, really, because it reflects my strange, not particularly original or tasteful favored songs and artists):

Bishop: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen (his favorite song), OURSELVES by Ayumi Hamasaki (For the lyrics! _Not_ the melody!)

W: Paralyzer by Finger Eleven (not completely relevant but with a beat that sort of suits him)

Marcus: Welcome to the Black Parade by My Chemical Romance (Ironic in regards to his relationship with his father), Stand My Ground by Within Temptation,

Thorne: Basket Case by Green Day, The Bird and the Worm by The Used

Gregori: What's My Age Again? by Blink-182

Mara: Karma by Bump of Chicken, Bad Reputation by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Nathanial: Take Me Out by Franz Ferdinand, Dancing through Life from Wicked

Marlow: Liar, Liar (Burn in Hell) by The Used

Chaucer: Bleed it Out by Linkin Park

Domino: Wonderful from Wicked, Poor Unfortunate Souls from The Little Mermaid (-author runs away from the pissed off character who hates Disney movies-)


End file.
